


Supply and Demand 1: Unwanted

by tari_roo



Series: Supply and Demand [1]
Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Empath, Empath Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-15
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tari_roo/pseuds/tari_roo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Quiet overwhelmed the small room, a heavy blanket of anticipation and tension. Gibbs was ramrod straight at the window, a picture of studied silence. Darting his gaze between the Boss and the _Cosmo_ article he was supposed to be engrossed in, DiNozzo shifted a little in the overly soft seats and fought the urge to sigh. They’d been waiting for only ten minutes, and considering that they’d been 30 minutes early wasn’t too bad, but the tension was only getting worse.

The muted and only occasionally heard tick of the clock above the door suddenly tocked and the off white door was opened quietly and Agent Andrews stuck his head, smiling winningly. Gibbs turned and the overly friendly Andrews smiled, “Not too much longer, Agents. Nearly got him ready... just a bit rushed what with you ....” The smile didn’t even move but his awkward little wave certainly conveyed enough of his nerves and DiNozzo grinned, “No rush, Agent. We know we’re early. Just ... have a case to get to.”

“Right, right. Uhm... be right back.”

And Andrews’ head disappeared, door closely quietly behind him. There was no sound of scurrying footsteps, or hushed voices... just silence. Oppressive, uncomfortable and heavy. 

“Hey, Boss?” Tony leant back and twisted towards Gibbs, “Ya think we can stop for breakfast on the way? I...”

Gibbs was staring straight out the window again, and Tony muttered softly, returning to his magazine. “I haven’t eaten yet. But hey, what’s breakfast if not the most important meal of the day and ... it’s past 9.” The clock stared back blankly, silently remaining past 9 and Tony sighed, returning to the article, ‘ _7 Signs that you may need to change your nightcream.’_

For a while Tony imagined what it would be like to be trapped in amber, like a prehistoric mosquito, and that years from now, some alien archaeologist would find him and Gibbs, trapped in this silent wasteland and would extract enough DNA to create a zoo dedicated to the human species. A very unhappy zoo of slap-happy, grumpy Gibbses and overwrought fast becoming nervous wrecks DiNozzos. 

The creepy quiet door broke Tony’s vision of a herd of McGeekasors being chased by a pack VelociZivas and Agent Andrews stepped into the room – the entirety of him no less, and his fixed little smile was looking a little strained. “Well, we’re all set. Here he is.”

DiNozzo hardly noted the Empath who entered, as he flicked his gaze towards Gibbs. Immediately, Gibbs seem to relax, some of the tension in his shoulders eased up but just as Tony was expecting, the ease was momentary only, as Gibbs then visibly stiffened and faced Andrews and the Empath. _His_ Empath. 

“Please, Agent Gibbs, I know you are in a hurry, so if you would.” Andrews waved Gibbs over, gesturing towards the Empath. 

It took a lot to make Gibbs nervous and you’d never know it if you saw him, and nothing had changed. Familiar scowl in place, Gibbs moved towards Andrews, who then gently pushed the Empath towards the nearest chair. “Sit.”

The Empath was ... not quite what DiNozzo was expecting. Everything he had ever heard, read or pretended to know about Empaths and Telekinetics had the Empath as a soft, mousey, touchey feely, uber hippy type of person, with the Kinetics being the more forceful, take charge, overbearing personality – the picture of Gibbs. But this guy was ... not. Not soft, not mousey and if he was going to touch you, it was with a fist, while he chugged a beer and laughed as you fell over. Sure the grey jumpsuit, mental patient look clashed with the crew cut and chiselled jaw, and while there was no pumped up inmate vibe from the guy, he most definitely did not scream ‘I’m in touch with my feelings, yours and everybody else’s too and I’d like to hug.’ So, maybe perfect for Gibbs afterall.

“Special Agent Gibbs, this is Dean – your loan Empath.” Andrews definitely stressed the _loan,_ you could hear the italics and said very seriously, his eyes boring into Gibbs’ as if trying to engrave the importance of his words onto his eyeballs, “Do not attempt to make a permanent connection with him.”

Tony’s snort beat Gibbs’ by half a second, but it was Gibbs who said, “This is just to even me out, that’s it. Nothing permanent.”

Andrews nodded, but didn’t seem to entirely buy the sentiment because he said again, “I mean it, Agent Gibbs, don’t...”

“Let’s just get on with it, ok. I don’t need a permanent Empath. Got it?”

Andrews hovered indecisively for a few seconds, probably deciding if the need to stress his point was strong enough to risk Gibbs’ wrath. Unsurprisingly, he smiled stiffly and said, “Well, just place your hands on his head, pinkies above his ears, thumbs on his forehead.”

Tony barely caught the nervous swallow from Gibbs as he stepped forward, but just before Gibbs obscured his view of the Empath, Dean, Tony actually met the guy’s gaze and felt a sudden chill. Dead, hopeless, despair ridden eyes met his for but a moment, and any image of a tough guy was gone. This guy was scared – and broken. 

Softly, hesitantly, Gibbs placed his hands on the Empath’s head, as instructed and felt an instant _pulse_ run through him. “Wow.” He was barely aware that he’d even said anything at all, but Andrews nodded, smirking and said, “Yeah, packs quite a punch, huh?”

Not a punch, not even a thrill, it was toe curling in its intensity. Unseen, Dean’s eyes had rolled back, and his fists were white knuckled. “Now, Agent Gibbs, you want to make this as brief as possible, so just imagine you’re holding a coffee cup, or a heating pad or something warm and put it in your pocket. Do not connect. I repeat do not connect. Just ... keep it.”

But Gibbs barely heard him, luxuriating in the warmth that was spreading through his body, settling into his pores, filling an empty space he didn’t even know he had. It was a rush like nothing he had felt before. Everything seemed louder, brighter, more intense, his heart racing as a flood of raw power ran through him. He felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, and his gut tightened in anticipation. He felt as if he could run a thousand miles, run straight through anything that stood in his way, punch his way into... 

And as that thought swelled, Gibbs snapped out of it and yanked his hands away, as if he’d been burnt. Andrews’ was mid-word, about to demand that Gibbs back off and Tony was half on his feet, reaching towards his Boss. With a dull clatter, the free standing furniture in the room fell back to the floor from the few inches they had risen. Andrews was even trying to flatten his hair a little.

“Gibbs? You OK?”

Blinking in the suddenly bright room, his ears roaring and skin a prickly sensation of over sensitivity, Gibbs ran his tongue over his lip, trying to get back a sense of control. It’d only been a few seconds but it felt like he’d been jacked into power conduit for hours, he felt so ... alive. 

Tony stood fully, his hand reaching towards Gibbs, more than just a little concerned over the groan he’d heard. “Don’t touch him, Agent DiNozzo, just let him... adjust.” Andrews was studying Gibbs closely, watching for something.... 

Shaking his head, Gibbs stepped back, almost right into Tony and said, “Shit.” 

“Boss?”

Packing it away, burying the rise of elation, he snapped, “I’m fine, DiNozzo.” More than fine ran through his mind, a damn sight more than fine. He may have been a latent Kinetic most of his adult life, and a suppressed, living in denial, Kinetic for the past year but damnit if Gibbs didn’t completely understand why there was such a high demand for Empaths. Who the hell needed drugs when you could jack into that kind of rush whenever the hell you wanted? 

Speaking of which, Gibbs suddenly looked at the Empath, his Empath, and found the guy collapsed in the chair, loose boned and spaced out. Vacant gaze, and slack jaw, the kid looked wrung out but Gibbs felt nothing more than an immediate desire to touch him again, feel that rush, make a connection.

“Uh huh, Agent Gibbs, back off. Best keep your distance for now, until it settles some more.” Andrews hadn’t touched him, per say, but Gibbs could _feel_ the man’s hand only inches from his chest, as he had taken an unbidden step towards Dean. 

“Hey, Boss. Maybe, we should go, you know ... the case and all...”

Tony was slightly at a loss. Gibbs was staring at the Empath like he was, well, in one of those Bugs Bunny cartoons and the guy had just turned into a roast chicken, or juicy hamburger. Feeling his stomach growl in response, Tony said again, “Boss! We gotta go. Crime scene, breakfast, remember? Or you know, breakfast first preferably.”

It was like watching one of those stop motion animation movies. Gibbs blinked, tore his gaze from the Empath, and his stunned expression morphed into a more Gibbslike, businesslike ‘I need to hit someone’ expression and he growled, “Haven’t forgotten. Let’s go.”

“Ah, gentlemen, just a few things,” Andrews was turning even as he spoke, trying to follow Gibbs who had backed up and was heading for the door in an absolutely ‘I’m so totally freaked out by what just happened’ manner. 

“Tell DiNozzo. Car now, DiNozzo.”

And with that, Gibbs was gone. Again, there was no sound of hurried footsteps down the passage, the oppressive silence fulfilling its role well. 

Sighing, Tony pulled out his PDA and said, “Ok, lets see if I got everything down from before.”

There was a soft groan from the Empath, Dean, who slowly grabbed his head and bent over his knees, fingers fisted into his short hair, massaging his head as if in pain.

Ignoring him, Andrews shot one last unhappy look at the open, sans-Gibbs door and sighed, “All for the best, I suppose.”

Clearing his throat, Tony said a little loudly to get Andrews’ attention, “Ah, first off, no permanent connections, so you, ah Gibbs, has to break the semi-perm connection each morning and to do ... that, again.” Tony waved his PDA’s stylus vaguely in the Empath’s direction. The guy was still clutching his head, eyes shut tight.

Andrews nodded and said, “Right, yes. And the taser is in Dean’s bag. He’s supposed to bring it in Agents Gibbs each morning, but...”

“I’m sorry, what? Taser?” Something akin to shock or horror must have flitted across his face before he could squash it, because Andrews stiffened. The perma-smile was back, in all its rigid glory and he said quite clearly, as if speaking to a small child or small minded agent, “Yes, Agent DiNozzo, taser. It’s voltage is very mild, barely a small buzz, but it is essential to breaking any connection that may have formed in the 24 hour period. Remember, no perm...”

“Permanent connection, yeah, yeah, I got it. But seriously a taser?” Tony interrupted, unable to stop himself from looking at Dean, trying to gage his reaction to the news. 

The movement was slight, barely there, but Agent Andrews shuffled his feet, took the smallest step backwards and said brightly, “Electro therapy has proven to be the most effective and painless way to break connections between Telekinetics and Empaths. As you know, the shortage of Empaths and excess of Kinetics has resulted in the need for ‘sharing’ Empaths and ...”

Tony cut Andrews off again, not wanting to hear the whole supply and demand spiel again. “Don’t you mean elctro _shock_ therapy?” Andrews was a picture of genial, friendly, public relations but his expression was so stiff that his words lacked any weight. “Agent DiNozzo, _Electro therapy_ is a non-invasive, safe method to assist Empaths in breaking connections and opening themselves to new Telekinetics. It is in no way like the old, overblown, media-hyped electicshock therapy from yesteryear.”

Refusing to return the hopeful smile, DiNozzo kept the ‘ _Yeah, right,’_ to himself and noting the time, quickly said, “Sure, whatever. So besides the daily ‘shock’, Gibbs has to ah...” He looked down at his notes and rattled off, “Avoid touching the Empath as much as possible, but stay in close proximity to still get some benefit from the semi-connection. Ah, don’t give him coffee, sugar or anything else ‘stimulating’ and no tv. Probably won’t talk to us, so don’t be worried about that. Don’t try to engage in conversation, might be too stimulating and ah ... keep him away from other telekinetics?”

Nodding, Andrews glanced at Dean, who was still curled over onto himself, and he patted the guy on the head like he was a soft puppy. “Correct. In fact you should all keep physical contact to a minimum. In order to be a pool ‘Path, Dean has to keep his abilities fully open and even non-Kinetics can ‘feel’ him. Other Kinetics will be drawn to him but there are so few of them, it’s unlikely that you will run into any. But keep him as isolated as possible.”

Tony suddenly felt his phone vibrate, and grabbed it out of his pocket, staring at the flashing ‘Gibbs’. “Ah,” he keyed the phone and said briskly, “On our way, Boss.”

‘Now, DiNozzo.’ __

And with that, Gibbs ended the call and Tony snapped his phone closed, “Right, if that’s it?”

“Just his bag,” and Agent Andrew pulled a dull grey duffel bag out from behind the chair and tossed it at Tony, who just managed it catch it. “Spare clothes, toiletries, socks, underwear.”

“And taser.” Tony couldn’t help adding.

“And taser.”

Slinging the bad over his shoulder, Tony shook Andrews’ hand and said, “Ok, thanks then. See you in a week.”

“My pleasure, Agent DiNozzo and please if you or Agent Gibbs have any questions, please do not hesitate to call the T&E Centre helpline.”

Putting his PDA away as well, Tony nudged Dean with his foot, softly and said, “Right, let’s hit the road.” Smiling at Andrews brightly, Tony headed out the door, duffel bag bumping his back as his hurried out. 

Rolling his eyes, Andrews reached down and grabbed Dean’s closest wrist, and said firmly, “Get up, Winchester. Now.” He applied soft, but firm pressure on the wrist and slowly Dean stood, and Andrews reached over and turned his face towards him. Noting the still vacant gaze and pained expression, he muttered, “Be good now, we don’t want a repeat of last time, do we?”

There was no response, and Andrew dropped his wrist and face and sighed, “3 ... 2... 1.”

On 1, DiNozzo suddenly stuck his head back into the room and said, “Ah, Dean, right? You coming?”

“You’ll need to help him a little, Agent. He’s still out of it.”

“Ah, ok. Right – uhm.” Tony stepped forward, and snagged the same wrist and said brightly, “Come on.”

The soft tug was enough to get Dean moving and DiNozzo bustled out of the room, yelling, “Coming, Boss!”

In the empty room, Andrews sighed and rubbed his temples, wearily, muttering, “I have got to get a new job.”

***

 

_ “In the summer of 1971, Richard E. Jackson freed his wife from the wreckage of their car with his mind, going on to save 5 more people in the multi car pile up. He was to become the first recorded Telekinetic and later his wife, Greta, the first recorded Empath. During the ensuring fervour and media circus, Richard Jackson confirmed that he was part of a test group for a new drug supposed to eliminate insomnia. A Dr Bishop, no first name, was running the case study. His wife had been in the test group as well. _

_ When 2 more people from similar test groups in Los Angeles and San Francisco came forward with telekinetic abilities, an urgent call for all people participating in ‘Dr Bishop’ case studies was issued and the FBI and Department of Health offices were flooded with thousands of eager people. Only 5 genuine telekinetics were identified, and 1 Empath. A fledging office within the Bureau was tasked with identifying additional telekinetics and empaths and throughout the rest of the 1971, 3 more telekinetics were identified. _

_ It wasn’t until early 1973 though, March 24th, that the Telekinetic and Empath Centre was established, almost as a direct result of the events of March 1st and March 7th. On the 1st of March 1973, two men robbed a bank in Phoenix, Arizona, wielding several automatic weapons, all telekinetically levitated and directed at the patrons. On March 3rd, a small boy of 6 stopped his school bus and proceeded to telekinetically beat up a bully who had been tormenting him. _

_ The Government felt that public fear and uncertainty would be addressed through the establishment of the T&E Agency, which initially it was. The hunt for the mysterious Dr Bishop continued, but he was never found.” _

_ \- extract from “The Telekinetic Phenomenon” by Maxwell Kimball, circa 1987 _

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Chapter 2

In what was probably one of the most uncomfortable, tension ridden car trips of his life, DiNozzo quietly ate, nay wolfed down, the McMuffin he managed to whine out of Gibbs. The drive-thru had been awkward but the food was doing wonders for his nerves.

Dean was on the backseat, staring vacantly out of the window, his own bag of Breakfast ala Mickie Dee’s untouched. Gibbs was stiff armed and rigid, glaring at the road and strangely enough, keeping to the speed limit.

There were a dozen questions flitting around Dinozzo’s mind, half of them fully guaranteed to earn him a slap upside the head and a trademark Gibbs glare, but the other half would just be ignored. Top of the list and the one both McGee and David were probably going to ask was, “So, are you feeling better, Boss?” Because that was the whole point of Dean. He was supposed to ease the hackles a little, unruffle the feathers, return Gibbs to his usual, abrasive, stressed self and put the overbearing, unreasonable monster back in its cage.

Focused on the road, Gibbs fought the smile that wanted to peak out at DiNozzo’s oh-so-subtle attempts to gage his mood. The desire to smile was in direct contrast to his near over whelming need to hit something. He was ... definitely conflicted. Ignoring DiNozzo was a cinch compared to the white hot magnet slumped in the back seat. Gibbs felt good and that alone pissed him off royally. He wasn’t supposed to need a damn Empath, he had managed just fine for years and now... it just felt so damn good having one, even with as remote a connection as this. Shoving the elation as far back as he could, Gibbs clung to his anger, holding tight onto it, fighting the stupid, satisfied smile. He hadn’t felt this good since ...

Growling a little, not realising it was audible, Gibbs tightened his grip on the steering wheel and put his foot down.

Scrambling to save his fries, Tony steadied himself with a hand on the dashboard and mumbled, mouth full, “A little warning, Boss...”

Fortunately, the remainder of the trip to Bellevue was brief and they were soon pulling up at the crime scene. Ducky’s Coroner Van was already on scene, parked close behind the NCIS van. Tony shoved the last few fries in his mouth and noted McGee on the front steps of the house, still taking pictures. “Ah, the McGeek at work – always brings a little tear to my eye... they grow up so fast.”

The headslap was not unexpected and definitely half-hearted but Gibbs was already out of the car, striding over to the crime scene. Tony fumbled for the door and then paused, and leant back and snapped his fingers, “Hey, hey, Deano.”

There was no response, but Tony said loudly, “Stay put, huh. No wandering off.” He stepped out of the car and hurried after Gibbs, and then changed directions to grab a kit out of the van.

Ducky and Palmer were still examining the body by the time DiNozzo entered the house, but it took Tony a moment to spot Ziva and Gibbs... mostly because the place was an absolute pig sty. “Holy bucket of chicken wings, Batman!”

Ziva didn’t even turn around, “Nice of you join us, Tony ... pick a pile.” McGee was now in the kitchen, still snapping away, and from what Tony could see, the kitchen was even worse. It was a standard naval housing open plan, bedrooms down the hall but whoever the hell had lived here couldn’t have thrown anything away ... ever.

There were cartons of fast food on every available surface, open packets of every artery thickening junk food known to man. “A Petty Officer lives, ah, lived here?” Dinozzo exclaimed, carefully stepping over the odd pile of Chinese food cartons and dodging the congealing mass of ... pizza? The Petty Officer in question was by the door, a dark pool of congealed blood staining the carpet beneath his head. Gibbs was standing in the living room, staring at a pile of books, which had a collection of old coke cans on it. Ziva was gently applying fingerprint dust over the tv remote, perched a little awkwardly to avoid stepping or in this case falling into ...

“Is that puke, David? Honest to goodness vomit?”

“No, Tony, I believe it is,” and she risked another look at it, shuddering a little, “a curry of some sort which is ... several days old.”

“Who in the hell lives like this?”

“Not Petty Office Martinez.” All three heads whipped around to stare at Gibbs, who was fingering the one of the books.

“Boss?” It was a typical McGee question, chock full of eager confusion. Turning on his heel slowly, Gibbs faced them, McGee standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Ziva, those DVDs and CDs are in alphabetical order, right?”

Straining her neck a little, Ziva nodded, “Indeed, yes.” Tony considered the cupboard next to him and on whim opened it and found a neatly stacked and ordered linen closet. McGee disappeared into the kitchen and shouted, “Fridge is a mess, Boss, but the closet in here is pretty tidy.”

Gibbs was studying the room and from the doorway where PO Martinez still lay, Ducky piped up, “I think Jethro that it would not be beyond the realm of possibility for the good Petty Officer to be this messy. I had a rather intelligent roommate who had an almost pathological aversion to picking up after himself, in fact...”

“Duck,” Gibbs sighed and Dr Mallard trailed off with a small smile.

“On the other hand, Jethro, a brief,” and here Ducky pointed a begloved finger at Gibbs, “brief mind you, psychoanalysis of Petty Officer Martinez’s home points more to a very neat individual having a very messy house guest. The underlying structures, the inherent order, the...”

“Someone else made this mess?” Tony interrupted, mouth open in confusion.

McGee returned from the kitchen and said, “And there’s this, Boss. PO Martinez had just returned from deployment. Technically, he wouldn’t been around to eat this,” and he held up a relatively fresh pizza box, half eaten pizza inside, “and order it while his ship was still at sea 3 days ago.”

“And I imagine he was pretty damn surprised to come home and find this ... “ Ziva stood, and jabbed her brush at the room in general.

“Especially if he surprised his squatter.”

“Wait, you mean this is the case of the messy houseguest who got caught and then killed the neato freak who lived here?” Tony nearly stepped onto several pizza boxes and narrowly recovered only to stumble into a tower of soda cans.

Wincing a little at the noise, McGee nodded, “Maybe. I mean, Boss, the Petty Officer was supposed to be deployed until the 12th and perhaps the squatter didn’t clear out in time.”

Shaking her head, Ziva asked, “But surely someone would have noticed that a civilian was using Naval Housing? How would he...”

“Or she?” Tony wagged his finger at Ziva.

Grimacing, Ziva continued, “or she, have gone unnoticed for so long?”

Stepping over all of the junk and mess, Gibbs headed towards the body and Ducky, saying, “Who said they were civilian, Ziva. McGee, get me a list of anyone using naval housing in the area and currently on deployment. Ducky?”

Straightening, Dr Mallard groaned a little and said softly, “Alright, Mr Palmer, you can let them in and supervise the body’s removal.” Turning to face Gibbs, Ducky studied his friend briefly but Jethro noticed and growled, “Cause of death?”

“Right. Preliminary examination indicates a blow to the head with a blunt instrument, which I am sure a more detailed autopsy and Abby will confirm as a baseball bat...” and Ducky smiled, “or not.”

“McGee!”

“Working on it, Boss.”

Gibbs made as if to move past Dr Mallard, but Ducky stepped into his path and said softly, “And, Jethro? Did it work?”

There was a sudden lull in the room, as both McGee and Ziva paused with what they were doing and Tony wondered for a moment if...

Gibbs stared at Ducky and for an instant he could feel the rush of pure energy again and felt the hairs on his arm rise a little. Shutting those emotions down, he snarled “Yes,” and side stepped Ducky, and went out of the door.

Dr Mallard shared a knowing look with Tony and nodded before bustling after Palmer with a “Be sure not to drop the body this time, Mr Palmer!”

McGee and Ziva in turn stared at Tony who shrugged and muttered, “Well it did – no noticeable difference yet, but hey... he’s Gibbs!”

Ziva nodded, absently smoothing her arms, flattening the hairs that had risen during Gibbs’ brief... lapse. McGee pursed his lips and said, “Yeah, last week if Ducky had pushed him like that, the furniture would have moved. Must have helped.”

Ziplocking his last piece of evidence, Tony snapped his case shut and said, “Come on then, McDawdle. Names and addresses, I’m sure we’re going to go trick or treating.”

“Sending you the addresses now, they’re just coming through,” replied McGee, taping away on his phone.

Together they left PO Martinez’s house, Tony letting Ziva exit first with a grand sweep of his arm, which she ignored and shoved McGee forward so that he stumbled down the stairs with a ‘Hey!’

Gibbs was standing on the front lawn, talking to the Petty Officer who had discovered Martinez’s body. As they drew nearer, they heard the Petty Officer saying, “No, sir. Haven’t noticed anyone unusual around. Everyone in the area, a couple of blocks I guess, knows everyone else. Kinda hang out a lot, block parties, you know.”

“All done, Boss and we got our list,” Tony said brightly, nodding at the Petty Officer. Gibbs tucked away his note pad and said, “You and Ziva start going door to door then. McGee, you’re with me.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Blinking, the Petty Officer quickly asked, “Sorry, sir, but who are you looking for?”

Half a step away and watching as Ducky’s coroner van drove past, he replied gruffly, “For someone who is not supposed to be there.”

Tony and Ziva headed up the road, towards their first address but McGee had a sudden thought and turned back to ask the Petty Officer, “Say, is there someone who house sits or you know offers to look after pets or anything?”

A few feet away, Gibbs paused and waited for the answer, Tony and Ziva already at their first door, several houses up. The Petty Officer shot a quick look at Gibbs before answering with, “Not really, sir, it might be naval housing but you don’t usually need someone to look after your place.”

“Never mind,” McGee frowned, “Just wondering, thanks though.”

He hurried after Gibbs, pulling up an address on his PDA. They walked past Gibbs’ town car and for a split second Tim thought someone was sitting in the back, and opened his mouth to say something but just as he was about to, he watched Gibbs visibly relax as they passed and actually slow down until he ‘shook’ himself and sped up.

‘Oh yeah...’ McGee tried to look at the person slouched on the back seat but the opaque glass and the lower angle made it difficult to see more than a grey outline. Hurrying now in earnest to catch up to Gibbs, McGee half shouted, “The first address is number ... 32, Boss.”

Gibbs however found his thoughts drifting back towards the car and the Empath. His Empath. His palms itched and tingled with the desire, no need, to go back and just ... touch. The walk past the car had been both a relief and an irritant. He had felt immediately better and as a result, furious. And the urge to turnaround was not diminishing ... at all.

Growling to himself, he focused on the need to solve this murder, to find this idiot who had killed Petty Officer Martinez. Just find the murderer – just that. Nothing else.

By the time they reached the door to number 32, Gibbs felt a little more in control and he did not notice that McGee had a decidedly nervous look on his face. “You ok, Boss?”

“Fine, McGee.”

Gibbs raised his fist to knock on the door, tuning out McGee’s “Sure, it’s just that you ...look a little intense, Boss.”

The knock was answered pretty quickly by a young lady, willowy and blonde. “Hi, did something happen over at PO Martinez’s place?”

Turned out that the young lady was a Chief Petty Officer’s wife, a CPO currently deployed and she kept a very tidy home, albeit a slightly dusty one. McGee bobbed an apologetic goodbye as Gibbs tersely did the same and stalked down the walk to the sidewalk.

“Sorry, Boss, I obviously didn’t exclude married personnel in the search, I ....”

Gibbs’ attention was back towards the crime scene however, in fact, McGee realised, not the crime scene itself but his car and ... the open back door. “Ah, Boss?”

But Gibbs was already running, his feet a sharp staccato of speed across the tar. “Boss!” McGee followed, scanning the surrounding houses for ... he didn’t even know what the Empath looked like. Gibbs seemed to know where to go though and Tim briefly considered pulling out his phone and calling Tony but a quick look in their direction confirmed that Ziva and Tony had seen Gibbs run off and were in pursuit.

“Boss!”

Gibbs had ducked down a small pedestrian sidewalk, heading towards the houses which sat parallel to the street they were in. McGee followed suit and could hear Tony puffing not too far behind him. As he cleared the houses and ran out onto the new street, Tim scanned the area for ... Gibbs!

“Boss!”

As far as Tim could see, Gibbs didn’t have his weapon out, but he was running hell for leather towards a house down the street, a house which had a figure in a grey jumpsuit on the front porch.

As he got closer to Dean, Gibbs felt a rise in elation swell through him. There, there, there. The need to reach his Empath swept through him and as he thundered up the steps up onto the porch the need to ‘touch’ screamed at him. Stopping himself with difficulty, Gibbs snarled at the guy, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Blank faced and swaying just a little, Dean licked his lips and blinked lazily. Opening his mouth to yell some more, Gibbs stopped as the door slowly opened and a rather large young man stuck his head out and said, “Can I help you?”

The guy was wearing a dirty, grease stained grey t-shirt with NAVY across the front. Tatty board shorts completed the look and the guy was holding a piece of pizza in hand. A feeling of accomplishment rushed through Gibbs and the guy in the doorway shuddered as well, as if he felt it. ‘Found him.’ McGee arrived on the sidewalk, Tony and Ziva not far behind but they hung back, for the moment.

Something clicked into place and Gibbs asked, “This your house?”

Straightening up, the young guy nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Ensign Barrows, sir. Naval Research, sir.” Ensign Barrows looked momentarily confused and actually wiped his mouth a little, and visibly straightened again.

This time Gibbs knew exactly where the feeling of pride and achievement came from and he glanced briefly at the Empath even as Ensign Barrows stepped out of the doorway, exposing the room behind him – the very messy room.

“Boss! This isn’t Ensign Barrows registered address,” McGee yelled from the lawn, Ziva and Tony flanking him on either side. Gibbs studied the Ensign, noted the messy room and the baseball bat near the door. Barrows was looking confused again, the feeling of pride diminishing and he finally noticed the NCIS insignia and the penny dropped.

“Shit!”

Ensign Barrows bolted for the door and Gibbs thought ‘stop’ for a split second and even as he moved to chase Barrows, he felt a rush of kinetic energy surge through him. The entire house rocked as the wave of undirected power lashed out and blew the door off its hinges and knocked Barrows flying. Startled and ... elated... Gibbs ran to the stunned suspect and flipped him over, saying in a somewhat shaky voice, “You are under arrest for the murder of PO Martinez.”

“But, but...” Barrows stammered, staring up at Gibbs and then staring at Dean. “How did you...?” Ziva and Tony ran up the steps, skirting past Dean warily and helped Gibbs drag the large Ensign to his feet.

“Read him his rights.”

Nodding, Ziva and Tony escorted Barrows down the stairs, past a still open mouthed McGee. Fighting the tremble in his hands, Gibbs stalked over to the Empath and opened his mouth to start yelling. Dean turned to face him, the so far persistent dazed look gone, and a more belligerent one in place.

The closer proximity to Dean was enough to further derail his tirade and he shoved his hands into his pockets and hissed, “Don’t ever do that again! I’m charge of the throwing people around. Got it? You are not my dog to go chasing suspects!”

There was no nod or flicker of understanding, just defiance, the guy’s jaw clenched, his fists curled into white knuckled anger. Rather than stay as close as he was any longer, Gibbs hurled himself down the steps and snarled at McGee, “Bring him. And slap a pair of handcuffs on him as well.”

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-After extensive testing it was discovered that telekinetics could move, lift and interact with any number of small, relatively light objects. The greater the mass of the object however, the more effort required and even the strongest telekinetics in laboratory situations failed to duplicate the dramatic rescue of Richard E. Jackson. Theorising that adrenalin, like most physical actions in extreme situations, played a key role, the Centre scientists achieved limited success in stimulating Telekinetics to match the original feat.

Research however into the abilities of the few Empaths the Centre had access too, was a much slower and less impressive process. Reading emotions was an obvious and easily confirmed ability and mind reading was quickly discredited and never proved in subsequent tests. However, in those first critical years the Empaths’ ability to manipulate or guide other people’s emotions was confirmed and documented. Any of the known Empaths could quite easily manipulate the emotions of a group of people ranging from extreme sadness to overwhelming joy. Testing to determine the strength of this ability and whether there was capacity for ‘brainwashing’ or subverting the natural inclination of the individual remained inconclusive.

It wasn’t however until the Jacksons, both living at the Centre, insisted on being tested together that the real breakthrough in Telekinetic ability was documented. With his wife at his side, Richard Jackson was able to duplicate his car lift with ease, and without any adrenalin supplements. The potential for paired Telekinetic and Empathic abilities was huge.

\- extract from “The Telekinetic Phenomenon” by Maxwell Kimball, circa 1987


	3. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 3/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 3/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU) 

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 3

There is a saying about an elephant in a room that no one wants to talk about.It was an odd saying to be sure and one he had often made note of to look up the etymology but had yet to do so. 

Timothy shifted, his seat creaking in response, at a loss with what to do with himself.There was a soft hum of work in the office, the late afternoon light filling the room through the glass wall, the Navy Yard softened by ambers and yellows. None of this helped his increasing unease though. 

Ziva was face planted on her desk, moaning softly as she listened to dismal on-hold muzak, Tony having already demanded that she turn off the speaker phone. If there was a hell worse than the DMV, it was trying to speak to someone from the DMV call centre. Tony meanwhile was finger stabbing his keyboard, muttering under his breath, eyes twitching between keyboard and screen.

None of this however was unusual for a post-case wind down – suspect in custody, JAG to be briefed and Abby happily confirming suspicions with evidence. No, the elephant that everyone was ignoring was standing near Gibbs’ desk, staring at a ZNN broadcast. You kinda forgot about him, until you realised that you hadn’t and yes, Tim was aware that that made no sense but he’d made the mistake of helping the guy out of the van and while he hadn’t noticed it initially now his hands were tingling. 

Seriously, tingling. He felt jittery, like he’d gone too long without caffeine and was jonesing for a fix. Which was weird. Flicking his eyes around the room again, McGee sighed and tried to focus on his report but the overly bright screen was blurry and his hands were hot and damn it, he just frigging needed to …

The spike in tension was electric and Ziva shot to her feet, the phone clattering onto the desk, her eyes wide, looking for danger. Tony was ‘what, what-ting’, head swivelling like a top and Tim was surprised to find himself on his feet as well, already half a step around his desk. 

“You! Knock it off!”

Gibbs was back, presumably from Abby’s and already in Dean’s face, eyes flashing with anger. Every time Gibbs got hear him, Dean lashed out, flooding the area with emotion. It was getting pretty damn annoying.They weren’t the only ones watching the standoff either, as the rest of floor had also felt the spike and were now staring. 

Unrepentant, Dean glowered back at Gibbs, as if daring him to do … something. The mini face off between Kinetic and Empath stretched into uncomfortable territory in a few short seconds. With a thud and a distinct ‘clunk’, Dean’s grey duffle bag landed on the desk, shattering the moment. As Gibbs turned to snarl at the interruption, Tony said brightly, “Why not take him home, Boss. Get him settled. It’s been a long day. We’re just about done anyway.”

That seemed to be permission enough for everyone else to return to their own work, the disturbed hum resuming and perhaps that nudged Gibbs into accepting the out offered. Barely looking at them, Gibbs snatched up the duffle and growled, “Let’s go,” and shoved past Dinozzo, but Tony caught the grateful look and he shot his boss a reassuring smile. 

The smooth diffusion of tension nearly faltered though when Dean hung back, seemingly unable or unwilling to follow along meekly when ordered. Before Gibbs had even really noticed, Tony snagged Dean’s arm and said softly, “Come on, man, you don’t bait the bear and then expect it to play nice later.”

Ziva, Tony and Tim watched as Gibbs and his Empath disappeared from view as the elevator doors shut and an audible and palatable sign of relief was heard. “Damn.”

“Is he not supposed to help? Make things better?” Ziva sighed as well, brushing her hair off her face, glancing up at Tony. 

“Yeah, I guess. Seemed to at first.” 

McGee shook his head, “I don’t know, Tony …”

Nodding, Ziva interjected with, “He seems to delight in provoking Gibbs. I thought Empaths were … gentle and easy going.”

“They are-“

“Maybe he is a dud.” 

Dinozzo shrugged, just glad that the day was over and he turned to flash his colleagues a dazzling grin and said, “Don’t know, but he seems to suit Gibbs just fine.”

Rolling her eyes, Ziva flopped back into her chair and slammed the now beeping phone back on to the set and muttered something under her breath. Tony just twirled in his chair, alternating between watching her and shutting down his PC. 

McGee though remained standing, watching the elevator still, feeling.... Well, to be honest he wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. The constant buzz was gone, the itch, the nagging drive. And in its place was a growing bud of anger. Forcing himself back into motion before Tony noticed his daze, Tim sat down stiffly struggling to define just what it was that bothered him. The keyboard now felt cool and familiar under his hands, the screen crisp and clear. 

There was one thing that McGee was perfectly certain of though – he didn’t like being manipulated. Thank goodness Gibbs only had this Empath for two weeks. 

 

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The house was shrouded in the cool greys of early evening by the time Gibbs pulled up, the sharp smells of pizza and garlic filling the car. He body checked the front door open, hands full and dropped dinner on the kitchen counter, before flicking on a few light switches kinetically. Dean didn’t seem to notice or care that two lamps turned themselves on as he passed, but he did nudge the door closed with his foot. 

Gibbs stepped out of the kitchen, beer in hand and studied his guest, or roomie as it were. Whether it was his normal state of being or the excitement of a day away from the Centre but the guy looked done in. “Guest room is this way,” and Gibbs led the way down the hall. 

The light was already on and Jethro opened the on-suite bathroom door and said to Dean, who was still standing in the hall, “Towels and stuff are under the sink, faucet needs a good thump to get the pressure up.”

He waited but Dean didn’t move and rather than tug or push or pull, Gibbs just brushed past him, feeling a sharp buzz of static and said, “Shower, shave, take a nap, I don’t care. Dinner’s ready whenever you want, but its lights out at 9.”

He felt the cool gaze on his back as he walked back to the kitchen but eventually he heard the bedroom door close and a few minutes later the sound of the shower starting up. Jethro stood in the kitchen eating a slice of pizza, beer close at hand, considering his options.The overhead light buzzed in the silence, the distant shower almost white noise in the background, the sounds of traffic from the main road several blocks over was intermittent. 

He didn’t have house guests all that often and it felt a little off having someone here now. He was also concerned that Dean was going to make a break for it in the night. Nothing about the guy screamed co-operation or towing the party line. There was one option though, short of locking up the house and handcuffing the guy to the bed. 

Gibbs had had no real practical experience with his telekinesis. It had always been latent and weak, flaring up in extreme circumstances, limited to small things like light switches, and nudges. But he’d had the orientation training years ago and the crash course on dealing with an Empath a few days ago so…

Leaning back on the counter and concentrating on the sounds around him, Gibbs _stretched_ his mind out, only not to flip a switch or shut a door but to _feel_ the thrum of connection between him and Dean. A true connection would be instantaneous and solid and real but as per instructions, Gibbs’s connection was tentative, more based on proximity than anything else. But it was still there, a soft line, a thread of emotion and as he visualised the thread he felt it strengthen and pulse and for a split second he _felt_ the warmth of water and a lingering despair before it was all shut down – firmly.

The urge to revisit the connection was huge and Gibbs both heard the shower shut off and _felt_ it. _Felt_ a mix of anxiety and fear before that too was shut off, locked out. But the visualisation had achieved its purpose and Gibbs was certain that should Dean try and sneak out or worse attack him, he would _feel_ it first. Already he knew Dean was out of the shower and in the bedroom, a steady pulse of repressed emotion and power. 

Sipping on his beer, Gibbs carefully locked away his own emotions, not wanting a perceptive and manipulative Empath to push him into any rash behaviour and he tried another ‘trick’ from the crash course. He sent a soft but insistent summons along the connection. Dean was slow to answer but come he did anyway, barefoot and suspicious. 

“Pizza’s getting cold. Don’t have a TV, but there books in the den. I’ll be in the basement.” He put as much intention and ‘order’ in that sentence as he could, stressing through their link, however tentative and temporary as it was, that he would be watching and vigilant. 

Dean barely batted an eyelid at the implications sent his way and just watched silently as Gibbs left the room, heading down the stairs to the basement. 

As it usually did time seemed to evaporate down there and before he knew it, it was after 9, nearly 10 and for a panicked moment Gibbs had to _feel_ for Dean but found him exactly where he was supposed to be. In bed, asleep.

When Jethro awoke the next morning, he had a faint metallic taste in his mouth and the vague recollection of unpleasant dreams already fading from memory. As he blinked against the semi-light of oh-dark-thirty the only impression of the dreams that lingered was that they were the kind that you were glad to wake up from, relieved that they weren’t true. 

Soft pre-dawn light was already smudging true darkness into day and Gibbs lay for a few minutes just listening to the early morning, strangely reluctant to broach the day and leave the comfort of his bed. If there were birds, they were in someone else’s yard. The ticks and groans of the house were sporadic and he didn’t need to _reach out_ to know that Dean was still down the hall, breathing quietly in his sleep. 

He felt calmer, more in control than he had in months and rather than let the usual flare of anger spark up at the idea of needing help to stay in control of his own emotions and abilities, Jethro made a decision. If he did this right, he’d never need another loan Empath, so it was better to just use Dean’s presence, let it do… whatever it was that he needed and then … be done. And with the least amount of drama.

After showering, shaving and completing his ablutions, Gibbs padded down the hall, knocked lightly on the door and _sent_ a wakeup call as well. Normally, he would have gone on a run first and eaten breakfast on the way in, picking up a coffee but since he had a guest….

He was putting two slices of bread into the toaster when he heard Dean enter the kitchen. “You want bacon and eggs, or just cereal?” Gibbs turned around and noted the bed-head, bleary eyes and rumpled t-shirt. While no answer was expected, the guy could still nod or point but Dean just stood there, waiting. 

The toast popped suddenly and Gibbs ground out, his resolution not to get angry already failing, “What? It’s a simple question… what do you want to eat?”

Dean blinked slowly and shuffled his feet a little but it was the tightening of his fist … no hand that finally clued Gibbs in. He was clutching a taser, his knuckles already white and tense, even though the rest of him still looked half asleep. 

‘Shit.’ Jethro had forgotten but obviously Dean had not, could not, was conditioned not to. 

“Now?” Gibbs blurted out, his own hands suddenly sweaty at the prospect of touching Dean again. He got the distinct impression that this was not something to do on a full stomach. 

Gibbs held out his hand for the taser and it took a few seconds but eventually, reluctantly, Dean handed it over. It was small, light, looked well worn and used. It didn’t matter where, he just had to touch the taser briefly on skin, feel the connection break and then turn it off. 

Looking down at the thing, the smell of toast wafting through the room, Gibbs got as good a feel on the connection he could and asked, “Ready?”

Dean looked ready, had transferred the white knuckle grip to the counter and nodded briefly. Gibbs flicked the taser on and quickly held it to Dean’s arm, hoping the break would be easy ….

It was like being dunked in ice water, it literally took his breath away and a yawning absence flooded through him, chilling him to the core. He dropped the taser from nerveless fingers and shook his head to clear the disorientation. 

In the absence of the connection, Gibbs was surprised to open his eyes and see Dean writhing on the floor, his limbs in a rictus of pain. “What the hell?”

Dropping to his knees, hands automatically reaching out to still the tremors, his touch seemed to bring instant relief. Chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on his face, Dean slowly stilled as the spasms and tremors eased. “That happen every time?” Gibbs stammered, horrified.

The cynic within, the part of him that made him a good investigator was wondering if perhaps he was being played here and a nice piece of acting going on. Jethro, however, noted the very real fear seeping through from the man on the floor, the struggle to get himself back under control. Not acting then. 

Dean nodded slowly, already trying to get up and Gibbs found himself helping Dean onto his knees where he was suddenly presented with a bowed head and shaking shoulders. A rising swell of nausea at the thought of someone, anyone having to do this - no, have this done to them – every day made Gibbs’s stomach curdle within and he leapt to his feet. Dean remained on his knees, head bowed.

Gibbs raised shaking hands to his face and ran them through his hair, trying to get his own emotions under control. Wrong, wrong, wrong, screamed at him – just wrong. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Dropping to his knees again, Gibbs reached out to lift Dean’s head, stopped himself and said sharply, “Look at me!”

Slowly, Dean did and Gibbs was relieved, no delighted, to see anger and defiance and hate … oh yes, hate reflected back at him. Not completely broken then. “I don’t know if you’re just not supposed to talk or if this … makes it difficult to talk, but I need to know – is it like this every time?”

There was no confusion, no break in the defiance directed at him, in fact there seemed to be a little contempt in the curl of his mouth, as Dean glared back at him and ever so mockingly nodded. 

“Why?”

He was taking a chance asking that, Dean might not be able to answer, physically unable to access the words. The guy however seemed to be keen to try and opened his mouth, licked dry lips and forced out, pointing at Gibbs then himself, “One to one, natural.” 

His voice was rough, cracked and it seemed like a struggle to string the words together. “One to many,” and this time he did a vague hand motion encompassing the room, “unnatural. Forced. Wrong.” There was a lot of emphasis on the wrong, a lot of anger imbued in that word. 

And it didn’t really clear anything for Jethro. He knew there was a shortage of Empaths, knew that the few there were had be shared and that the sharing meant keeping the Empaths open to connections, not allowing permanents connections. “And this is the only way for, you know, one to many?”

But whatever ability or willingness to try to communicate dried up at the question and Dean just glared at Gibbs, both still on their knees, eye ball to eye ball. Uncertain now as to what to do, Gibbs sank back onto his knees and paused. The need to connect again, even just that tenuous almost connection from before was screaming through him. But the very real prospect of having to do this every day made the whole thing extremely unpalatable. 

Maybe…?

Grimacing a little, Gibbs shifted forward, flexing his hands and tentatively raised them, palms out, waiting. If there was a flicker of disappointment, it was a micro-expression and gone in an instant, and Dean slowly lowered his head.

But even as Gibbs extended his hands, he didn’t actually touch, he held them just above Dean’s head, brushing the unseen but very tangible aura of power. He imagined warming his hands, drawing heat in, storing it, putting it away. By the time he felt ‘full’ and warm, his knees were aching and he had pins and needles in his feet.

The connection was there but without the whole live wire, touching raw power experience of yesterday and neither of them were as shaken or in Dean’s case drained. Confused eyes met his for a moment before Dean scrambled to his feet and hastily left the room. Gibbs felt good, although not as electrified as yesterday but this was almost better, more… normal. 

He tested the connection a little and knew Dean was in the bedroom, and then the bathroom and then bedroom again. Pacing. 

Groaning a little as he got to his feet and shook the pins and needles out, Gibbs yelled down the hall, “There’s no time for anything but cereal, so I hope you like Cornflakes!”

 

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Director Vance observed the NCIS Bullpen noting the ebbs and flows of agents and personnel. It could have been described as a beehive or ant colony but he never really understood or bought into the notion that anyone really saw a pattern in those insect colonies. On all the discovery channel documentaries he had sat through with his kids, the swarming mass of insects looked too chaotic to be anything more than a disarray, many hands doing what one could have achieved. Vance liked to think that NCIS, at least under his leadership, was more like a well run ship than a hive of mindless insects. And the navy metaphor was more appropriate anyway. Everyone knew their place, did their job efficiently and it all worked. 

Sometimes. 

Word of yesterday’s disruptions had of course reached him even though he had been in meetings for most of the day. Today though as he surveyed his ‘ship’ everything seemed to be in working order, no emotional rollercoasters, no volatile confrontations but then it looked liked Gibbs was Empath free. Perhaps a small homicide had occurred last night and Gibbs had disposed of the body already. Vance sauntered down to the bullpen, noting that only Ziva was at her desk, besides Gibbs who was hen pecking at his keyboard, no doubt typing up yesterday’s arrest. A safe enough topic to broach the man with.

“Director,” Gibbs nodded, acknowledging him. David also inclined her head, her fingers flying across the keyboard in a likewise industrious manner.

“Agent Gibbs. Interesting case yesterday.” He didn’t exactly phrase it as a question, more a statement but Gibbs raised an eyebrow and said, “Not really, Vance.”

Undeterred, Leon said softly, looking around briefly, “Dinozzo’s calling it the ‘serial slob who got a fright’?”

Unimpressed, Gibbs shrugged and replied, “The guy moved into empty naval homes, lived like a pig, and then moved out before the owners returned ... all because Family and Fleet refused to assist him after he trashed his last known address. PO Martinez caught him at it and got a baseball bat to the head. It’s not interesting, Director, it’s disgusting.”

“True, but I know a few red faced NCOs at Fleet and Family Support who failed to do anything about the complaints and now this. They thought it was just random squatters and had left it with District PD.”

“Like I said, disgusting.”

Never one to watch his step, Vance barged on with, “Good thing kinetic assisted arrests have a precedent... even with JAG. Ensign Barrows is making a lot of noise about police brutality. You gave him quite a knock, Gibbs.”

Gibbs didn’t meet Vance’s eyes, instead fidgeting with a file on his desk. Well aware of the claim and that it would hold no water due to said precedent but considering he wasn’t entirely sure who had generated or directed the kinetic shove, he ended up shrugging and saying, “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Vance asked dryly, “And the emotional rollercoaster this office was subjected to? Did they deserve that too?”

Silence answered him, Gibbs still not meeting his questioning gaze, shuffling papers with no response forthcoming. 

“At least tell me if I’m going to be explaining to T&E why they are short one Empath?”

Chuffing in response, Gibbs stood and said gruffly, “He’s downstairs with Abby.”

“And?”

No response again and Vance lost some of his patience and pressed, “Gibbs, I pulled a lot of strings to get you an Empath rather than you spend 2 weeks at the Centre. Is it working? I don’t want my building reeling from the backlash of your little power struggles.”

Well aware that Ziva was paying close attention to the whole conversation and that this was why Vance was having it in the bullpen rather than in his office, Gibbs sighed, “Yes. I feel better – it is working and I appreciate the effort.”

Vance raised his eyebrows, and Gibbs grunted, “We’ve reached an ... understanding, I think or at least I have.”

Vance nodded, accepting this for now but fully aware that the next few days might get more interesting. “Good- use this opportunity wisely, Gibbs. I’m not inclined to pull these favours at the drop of a hat.” With that he left, nodding at David who was now studiously occupied again.

Gibbs taped his fingers on his desk, felt the distant connection acutely, the conversation triggering the realisation that down stairs was just a little too far for real comfort. 

Shoving his chair aside, Gibbs stalked down the hall to Abby’s elevator, feeling Ziva’s gaze and regard. As the doors dinged open on the lab’s level a heavy beat thudded through the floor, throbbing through his head as well.

Stepping into the lab, which was brightly lit and abuzz with machinery and two more bodies than usual, Gibbs was greeted with a delighted, “Gibbs!” 

Abby tottered over on unusually high platforms, even for her and he soon had an armful of Abby Scuito. Pulling back, finishing her study of the man before her, Abby said excitedly, “You’re a little early, Gibbs but come on!”

She dragged him towards her computer and as the loud metal music continued to throb loudly through the room unconsciously Gibbs _thought_ the music down and invisible fingers turned the volume lower.

“No way! Nice control, Gibbs,” Abby beamed and McGee, perched on the other side of the desk, looked up over the PC and said, “Yeah, Boss. Thanks.”

Pouting, Abby said, “We agreed, Timothy. Metallica was the mutually acceptable option.” 

“I know Abs, but it was a little loud.” 

Waving off McGee’s plea, Abby pulled up a new window on her screen and said, “I’ve confirmed that the baseball bat you found in CPO Richard’s house was the murder weapon. The bat had Martinez’s DNA all over it, Ensign Barrow’s fingerprints and ...” Abby paused for dramatic effect, “Drum roll please ...trace elements of cheese, wheat, tomato and basil. Pizza, Gibbs, pizza!”

“OK.”

“And I’ve confirmed that Ensign Barrows’ fingerprints were on the tv remote, tv itself, kitchen, bathroom and many many soda cans – in both houses. This guy was, is an idiot, Gibbs.”

McGee snorted his agreement, the sound of typing now audible beneath the still pulsing music. “Good work, Abs.”

Abby bounced on her heels, swinging her hands a little, smiling at Gibbs. Her pigtails swished with the motion and Gibbs fought the smile that threatened to emerge.

A light bulb clicked and Abby exclaimed, “Oh, right. He’s in the other lab.” Grabbing Gibb’s hand, she tugged him along and through the glass doors, explaining, “He’s fixing my old gas chromatograph, who was feeling a little put out with being replaced, but now!”

It looked more like Dean was gutting it than anything else. He barely looked up to acknowledge them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, the innards of the machine spread out around him. Gibbs however didn’t need the acknowledgment. The increase in anxiety the conversation with Vance had triggered had already been assuaged when he entered the lab and now the sight of Dean, content and at east, completely relaxed his nerves.

Now, however, probably picking up on that, Dean raised one eye to Gibbs, a mocking smile twitching his lips but Jethro didn’t rise to the bait.

Oblivious to the exchange, Abby said happily, “I’m going to ask him to check out my car later. Dean’s real handy .... with machines.” Abby stressed the pause and laid in on the innuendo which Dean responded to with a quick smile and a wink. Slightly taken aback at the change the smile made, Gibbs revised his plan of dragging his Empath upstairs and muttered instead, “Good to hear, Abs. Later.”

“Bye, Gibbs!”

As Gibbs passed McGee, they shared a look and a nod of understanding. Tim would keep an eye on Dean and call if there was any ... manipulation going on.

The rest of the day was pretty ordinary, filled with the paperwork of wrapping up a case and if Gibbs visited Abby more than usual no one said anything, even if Abby looked as pleased as punch with each visit. Dinozzo returned from briefing the JAG prosecutor, Ziva handed in her reports and Gibbs couldn’t help but resent his good mood, just a little, despite his early morning resolution. 

He collected Dean from the lab at the end of the day and gave Abs a kiss on the cheek as his forensic expert packed her skull festooned handbag. “Be nice, Gibbs,” was her parting instruction, and she waved goodbye to Dean, his farewell hug already bestowed.

The trip home was quiet, an underlying tone of unease present but far better than yesterday. Dean sat in the kitchen and sipped a beer while Gibbs grilled two steaks and nuked a packet of vegetables.

The meal over – eaten in silence – Gibbs considered maybe inviting Dean downstairs but his Empath got up, put his plate in the sink and gave a two fingered wave goodnight, his intent clear. 

The house was still, wrapped in slumbering darkness when the vibrating alert of his cellphone drew Gibbs groggily from his sleep. Groaning, he snapped the phone open and growled, “What?”

_ “Agent Gibbs?” _

“Yeah?”

“ _This is Metro PD Dispatch. We have an emergency in progress, an apartment block fire in Southwest, on 12 th. Your immediate assistance is required.”_

It took a moment to process, but just a moment and Gibbs said, “And you’re calling me?”

_ “Yes, sir. You are a registered Telekinetic with a resident Empath. The Fire Department is trying to reach trapped residents, sir and your assistance is required.” _

‘Ah.’ One of the conditions of getting an Empath, however briefly, was being on call for emergencies which needed telekinetic support.

“Right, 12th in Southwest. I’m on my way.”

“ _Thank you, sir.”_

Flipping the phone closed, Gibbs looked over to see Dean standing in the doorway, already dressed and ready to go.

“Smart ass.”

 

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__

_ -In response to the public outcry around the Galvaston Suicides, Congress has passed the legislation which requires all Telekinetics and Empaths to report to the nearest T&E Centre and be registered and tested. Failure to do so will be a criminal offence. With the sharp increase in telekinetic crimes, several police departments and the FBI have established T&E divisions manned by both normal and telekinetic personnel. In addition, the legislation makes provision of the secondment of telekinetics and empaths into emergency response and military service.- _

_ -ZNN Broadcast, 1987 _   
  



	4. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 4/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

  


Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 4 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: [](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/profile)[**tari_roo**](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/)  

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)   


Chapter 4

Dispatch had it on the money, and between the police lines, Fire Trucks and illuminated pillar of smoke rising in the night, Gibbs found the blazing building easily enough. It an old residential block that had been recently renovated and turned into upmarket condos.

Stopped at the PD blockade, Gibbs initially pulled out his NCIS credentials which only got him strange looks. It wasn’t until he showed them his Telekinetic Registration ID that they let him through, Dean following close behind. 

Spotting the Fire Marshal’s hat first and then the rest of the man, Gibbs pushed his way through the mass of emergency personnel, unaware of the slightly larger bubble they left in their wake. 

“Chief!”

“You our telekinetic?”

“Yeah,” and Gibbs handed over his IDs. The Fire Marshall scanned them and grunted, “Great. Nice to have you with us, Agent Gibbs. That your Empath?”

Flicking a glance at Dean who was staring up at the inferno across the street, Gibbs said, “Yep.”

“He got any ID?”

Did Dean have ID? Gibbs was momentarily floored but Dean pulled a flat, well worn ID card from nowhere and gave it to Gibbs, who handed it over. “Dean Winchester, class 2. Even better. This way.”

Palming the ID, Gibbs mouthed, ‘Winchester’ at Dean who rolled his eyes and trotted after the Fire Marshall. Catching up, Gibbs had to strain to hear the Fire Marshall over the roar of the flames, shouts from the fire fighters and general noise of the crowd of onlookers. 

“Fire started on the 2nd floor, near the rear of the building. We suspect faulty wiring or an electric appliance so my boys are pumping foam into that room. The rest of the floor is going up like a tinderbox and we’ve been unable to clear the 3rd floor. We know 3 people are trapped up there, almost directly above the fire.”

He pulled over a plan of the building and jabbed at the spot they thought the people were trapped. Looking at Gibbs, the Fire Marshall shouted, “I need you to put a cap or lid or whatever the hell it is you do over the fire, contain it as much as possible on the 2nd Floor. Then I need...”

Gibbs’s confusion must have been evident as the Fire Marshall stopped and said, “You have done this before, right?”

Shaking his head, Jethro yelled, “First time!”

“Shit! Ok... uhm...”

Dean grabbed the sleeve of Gibbs’ jacket, and sent a wave of energy that included the impression that he knew what to do. “You sure?” Gibbs shouted at him as another ambulance arrived, sirens wailing.

_ ‘Not my first rodeo, cowboy’  _ was the non verbal answer... sort of ... well as much as emotional chit chat could convey. “We’ll be fine,” Gibbs replied to the Marshall who was looking at Dean as well.   
  


“Good.” And the rest of the conversation was directed at Winchester. “So, cap the 2nd floor, just below the roof if you can. And then, if possible, create an airpocket in the main stairwell, just enough for us to get the civilians out.”

“A what?” Gibbs exclaimed but Dean was nodding his head and the Fire Marshall was already speaking into his radio.

Dean grabbed Gibbs again and dragged him closer to the building, the Fire Marshall following. Intensely aware of Winchester’s hand on his arm, Gibbs felt a surge of adrenalin, his heart rate increasing, anticipation flooding through him.

“The Kinetic is here, so get in place. I’ll give the word when you can go.”

At the all clear, the Fire Marshall gave Dean the nod and Winchester moved his hand to Gibbs’s shoulder. The growing storm of power within him was a little disorienting but a crystal clear picture of what he was supposed to do formed in his mind. Like holding his hands out before a fireplace, Gibbs _felt_ out the edge of the fire, a roaring heat which stretched and grew even as he tested the edges. He could feel Dean visualising a tight wall, a buffer of sorts and encouraging him to _push_ , which he did and somehow the wall expanded and spread and forced the flames downward. 

It was like nothing Gibbs had felt before. He had been turning on light switches all his life, occasionally getting angry enough to ‘shove’ someone, but all of those things he has able to do just as well with his physical hands. This however, was weird. He wasn’t imagining invisible hands but more an abstract idea which was now ... real. And pretty damn difficult to maintain, like stretching unused muscles and asking them to ‘hold’. 

_ ‘Suck it up, old man!’ _

“Shut up.”

“What?” the Fire Marshall shot a look at Gibbs who ignored him, a soft sheen of sweat breaking out on his lip. 

Winchester was guiding him, or in this case, the telekinetic lid by _feeling_ the unseen fire’s heat more than anything else. He kept on checking the building plan the Marshall had left in front of them, pulling Gibbs in one direction and then the next until he had a disconnected sensation of _holding_ the fire in his hands. He was vaguely aware that he was moving his hands in response to the promptings, mimicking the motions of the unseen but very solid mass of kinetic energy. 

One of the first exercises on control a Telekinetic was taught was _holding_ a full balloon between their hands without physically touching it. The guidelines were quite simple, burst or drop the balloon and you had to start again. Telekinetic force could be strong enough to bruise and break, but that was only really possible when in concert with an Empath. Now, Gibbs was back to basics, corralling a roaring fire between his hands – at least it felt like that. Gibbs wasn’t even looking up at the building anymore, more following the directions from Dean, whose gaze flitted between the building and the plans.

_ “ _ Looking good, sir. The fire has backed off from thestairwell _.”_

Vaguely hearing the radio chatter, Gibbs definitely heard the Fire Marshall shout at them, “Great. Now the air tunnel!”

‘ _Holdit but give me a little. If you can...’_

Nodding, whetting his lips with a dry tongue, Gibbs tried to keep control of the fire, picturing a flame filled balloon in his hands and let Dean siphon some of his _push._ Sweating in earnest now, Gibbs felt a brief touch of emotion – fear, resolution, determination – probably the firefighters and then a surge of relief as fresh air opened, smoke cleared...

“Hurry, go,” Gibbs heard himself snarl, and the Fire Marshall was already shouting, “Go, go, go,” into the radio. 

The sensation of Dean’s hand on his shoulder was disembodied, as if his shoulder was several yards behind him, a heavy hand running an electric tether to the ground. Instead, Gibbs felt that he was almost in the building now, he could feel the heat on his face, an acrid burn of smoke in his lungs, the thin delicate hairs on his arms curling, melting...

‘ _Don’t wig out on me now, Gibbs. Stay here.’_

The voice startled him and he almost let the balloon of fire go and managed to steady it but the strain of keeping it all in was rapidly draining him and the sensation of growing heat was getting sharply uncomfortable. He could hear the frantic heartbeats of the people trapped inside, their own lungs straining against the smoke filled air. His own chest tightened in sympathy, a different burn, stabbing and sharp.

‘ _Back off a little, you don’t need to be so close.’_

But the fire was easier to contain up close, like tucking a football under his arm, a damn hot football, like playing touch on the beach, the hot red leather burning his arm as he dodged Mike, then Tiff and...

‘ _Hey, snap out it. Pay attention!’_

“Wow.”

“You ok, Agent Gibbs?”

Blinking at the flashing red and blue lights, suddenly back in front of a blazing building lighting up the late night sky, Gibbs nodded, his mouth dry and parched. Man, he was hot.

“Not much longer, they’re almost out.”

“Kay.”

A steady hand on his shoulder drew him further back into the here and now and Gibbs turned to see Dean, face also dripping with sweat, nod and grimace. The ‘balloon’ was getting hotter and hotter, too hot and as much energy he poured into it, it seemed to be getting bigger, looser.

“Just a little bit longer.”

“Hurry the hell up!”

There was a ‘whoosh’ of smoke and carbon and ash and then he _felt_ the cool hands of Dean Winchester cover his own and stabilise the force containing the fire. It also drew him back, more into his body, feeling sticky and hot and heart pounding. 

‘ _Let it go, Gibbs’_

“No.”

The equally warm presence of an Empath wrapped around him, a shroud of reassurance and certainty.

‘ _Let it go.’_

Feeling as if his hands were blistering, burning, Gibbs blinked and was in front of the building and then inside it and then out again, just getting hotter and hotter. The thundering footsteps of the firemen on the stairs rang out like gunshots, their muffled breathing under oxygen masks the dull rumble of an approaching storm.

_ ‘Dude, come back and let go.’ _

The voice was calmness personified, professional, certain, experienced and ...

Gibbs let go, and rather than letting the bubble burst, Dean strengthened the fields corralling the fire and opened a funnel near one of the windows and Gibbs looked up just in time to see a hot jet of flames burst through the window, spraying up and out into the rising stream of water from a hose. 

“Yeah! That’s got it, see if you can...”

But the contained energy within the fire bubble was already exhausted and the snap jet of fire was dying down. “The building is clear! You can release it.”

And Dean and Gibbs did just that, letting the fire go, feeling the flames leap forward and upward in the fresh air and meeting water and foam and consumed carbon....

Back in his own shoes, own sweat and own body, Gibbs pulled in a gulp of smoke tainted air and coughed a little. He felt like he’d run a mile, through the desert, in full combat gear.Idly, he checked his hands, strangely convinced that he must have blisters, surely, the heat had been so intense. But his hands were fine, calloused and old, but definitely not burnt. 

“You ok?”

The voice was audible this time, just as rough and cracked as it sounded in the kitchen earlier this morning, but somehow more reassuring, more real.

“Yeah, just not what I was expecting.”

 

Dean nodded, even as he bent over, hands on knees, catching his breath. The fire was being beaten back by the fire teams, who had had a chance to pre-soak much of the surrounding structure and now trap and kill the blaze. 

A few partially obscured, soot and smoke covered residents were sitting on the back ends of ambulances and fire trucks, being checked out by paramedics. One of them, spotting Dean and Gibbs, waved, her face obscured by an oxygen mask. 

The Fire Marshall was a loud voice in the surrounds, shouting commands over the radio, bustling to and fro through the crowds, co-ordinating his crew and their efforts. There was a puddle of calm around them however, a quiet oasis, as most of the passing firemen and paramedics gave them a wide berth as they rushed by. 

Straightening, feeling his back creak and ache as if he’d be lifting all day and then run a marathon, Gibbs groaned and cricked his neck. 

“Hey!”

It was young, fresh faced paramedic, her blue jumpsuit a dark silhouette against the fiery red of the building. “Just want to check you out – can’t let our heroes pass out or anything.”

She didn’t move any closer though and Dean straightened too, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his arms as if the muscles ached from holding back the fire. Gibbs waited and then motioned her over, “We don’t bite...”

Placing her kit down next to him, she smiled and said, “Can you sit?” She indicated the wide step of the fire engine behind him and Gibbs half shook his head even as he sat down, which immediately felt awesome. 

“Looked pretty impressive, I must say and pretty tough, too. And it was your first time...”

Gibbs stared at her and she smiled, “The Fire Marshall sent me over. Probably only the 2nd time I’ve treated a Kinetic.” And turning that smile on Dean, her teeth flashing in the red and blue lights, she laughed, “Definitely a first with an Empath.”  
  


He didn’t really return the smile, just nodded and the Paramedic returned to taking Gibbs’s vitals, checking his pupils, heart, breath sounds, reaction times. “Any dizziness, light headed?”

“Only when I breathe...”

Laughing a little, she studied his pupils again, “If I’m right, and I hope I’m remembering it correctly, you’ll have a killer headache for a while and the usual aches and pains of over exertion, but otherwise... you should be fine. Just sleep in tomorrow and take lots of fluids, kay? Treat for dehydration.”

Nodding in as infinitesimal measures as he could, Gibbs murmured his agreement, and then said, “And him?”

“Sure,” she smiled, a little stiffly.

Dean however didn’t come any closer and neither did the Paramedic. Gibbs watched them for a moment before saying to Dean, “Get over here.” Unconsciously, he added a bit of _emphasis_ via their connection and then groaned as his brain protested. 

Touching her hair, and slicking it out of her face, the Paramedic asked quietly, “Wait, ah... is he your Empath or a .. loan, no... a Pool ‘Path, that’s the right term, right?”

Crinkling his forward in a frown and feeling the start of the predicated headache, Gibbs replied, “What difference does it make?”

Looking beyond uncomfortable, she seemed at a loss for words momentarily before stammering, “Oh, ah ...uhm, I’m guessing a Pool ‘Path then, considering you don’t really know why, but ah ...”

Finally, she looked at Dean and actually met his eyes and then at Gibbs, who was giving her an intense look and she moistened her lips and said quickly, “Right, see if he was your perm Empath, or connection or whatever ... then there’d be no leakage or anything. An Empath is usually completely in control of their own emotions and what they show people so ...”

She paused as if recalling a long ago read text, getting into her stride, “And they can feel others and not really show what they’re feeling. Anyway, a Pool ‘Path doesn’t have that control – they’re open for anyone to feel. So whatever they’re feeling everyone else experiences, especially the more intense an emotion is.”

With several things clicking into place inside his head, Gibbs blinked, realising she had stopped and said, “And?”

Confused, the Paramedic gestured at Dean, who was still not close enough for more than a cursory visual exam and said, “If a Pool ‘Path is in pain, anyone who touches them also feels that pain, he can’t exactly turn it off either, as I understand. That aspect of control is missing in them... it’s why they’re Pool ‘Paths – no control.”

That statement was an utter antithesis to the clear, calm and controlled presence which had carefully guided his hands and contained the fire. Gibbs growled to himself before saying, “It’ll be fine, I’ll help.” 

Gibbs stood and dragged Dean over who didn’t protest all that much and this time it was Gibbs who kept a steadying hand on a shoulder, grounding them all.

The Paramedic did a quick check: eyes, heart, pulse and they all winced at the bright light as she checked pupil reaction. She kept her touch to a minimum and by the time she declared him ‘fine’ she was squinting a little and shaking her hands, as if she had pins and needles.

“Good to go.” 

“Thanks...” Gibbs left the words hanging, aware that his hand was still on Dean’s shoulder and the quiet thrum of his Empath was more at ease. 

“Oh right, sorry, should have said before. Sam, Samantha.”

Gibbs did not miss the start at her name but Dean made no other sign of recognition or anything and he grated out his own ‘thanks’ to which Sam the Paramedic nodded and then disappeared into the mass of people. 

They sat still, side by side, shoulders touching, watching as the blaze was slowly killed, driven into soggy mush and ash. As the fire died, the buzz of people seemed to slow down as well, as if the late hour was catching up to them all and whispering of sleep and beds and dreams.

“So, you got any control over your leaking emotions?”

“Nope.”

There was nothing really to say after that and Gibbs leant back against the fire truck, his head pounding and he watched the hoses get flattened and then reeled in. Dean’s back didn’t lose any of the tension that tightened his shoulder blades.

Eventually standing up, Gibbs awkwardly patted Dean’s shoulder and said, “Come on, let’s go home.” 

 

Morning came all too soon and Gibbs woke to a pounding head, the certainty that he’d been run over and an incessant phone.

“Gibbs.”

“Oh hey, Boss.”

Dinozzo. He flopped back down into the soft mattress, head burrowing into the pillow. Tony’s voice continued unabated and unaware of the stampede trampling over his will to live. 

“Yeah, just checking up ... wondering where you are, Boss. We got a call. Burglary at the Marine Base at Quantico.”

Stifling a moan, Gibbs grated out, “And they called us?”

“Yep, asked for us special.” Tony sounded way too cheerful, as usual, which meant he was worried and concerned.

Grunting, Gibbs hmphed and said, “Fine, we’ll meet you there.”

“And by me, you mean...”

Subtle, Dinozzo, subtle. Gibbs sighed into the phone, “All of you, Dinozzo.”

“Right, Boss. See you there... then... is everything ok?”

Gibbs hung up and slowly coaxed his body into sitting up. The motivation speech to his muscles continued down the hall, trying to convince his body that mobility was not only possible, but a good idea. So far his body was reminding him that he was ten years past his prime and that his motivation skills were crap.

Dean was in the kitchen already, a bowl of dry cereal on the table in front of him. He was picking at it with disinterest and Gibbs shuffled over, snagging the open orange juice on the table.

“Be ready to go in five, we got a call,” he said around a mouthful of OJ.

Dean nodded, but didn’t move – or eat any faster. 

Opening the cupboard to pull out a bowl, Gibbs turned around to see the black taser on the table. Just as Dean put his hand on the taser and was about to move it towards Gibbs, Jethro said softly, “No time for that. Leave it.”

The words hung between them, frozen, slowing their heartbeats into slow languid pulses and as Dean blinked, everything sped up again and the taser was left where he’d put it, a black menace best forgotten.

They ate in silence and then Dean was gone, the shower soon running. Gibbs eyed the taser for a good bit, before getting up and _lifting_ both bowls to the sink. Time was a wasting.

n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n

__

_ Well, as you know Larry, T&E have been in operation for over a decade. We have become experts at identifying and assisting emerging Telekinetics. With the majority of Telekinetics coming into their abilities during their late teens or early twenties, the ‘emergent event’ is invariably linked to extreme emotions, heated arguments, sports games, grief, etc.  _

_ Sex? _

_ Oh yes, we’ve had quite a number of rather embarrassed potential Telekinetics call us after an ‘exciting’ amorous encounter. _

_ Really? And people are up front about being Telekinetics? _

_ Generally yes, Larry. It’s a little scary, being able to move things with your mind but most people are excited to have this ability. The ‘wow’ factor of being special far outweighs the stigma, which in my mind I feel the media exaggerates with shows like ‘Little Miss Magic’ and ‘Mind Rebels’. _

_ I understand T&E is actively working to have shows which portray Telekinetics in a negative fashion banned from network television. _

_ Most definitely. We can’t afford to perpetuate the idea that T&E does not have control over the situation. While the law may be on our side, there is the very real fact that power corrupts and the temptation to abuse their abilities, for self gain, for money is great. _

_ But I believe that you make it extremely lucrative to work for T&E, in an effort to combat that? _

_ Oh yes, between the government contracts, corporate leasings and private orders, Telekinetics who work for T&E will never be short of money. We pride ourselves on the level of service we offer, and the demand for telekinetic work is ever increasing. We try to make it far more attractive than branching out on their own. _

_ And Empaths. I hear you charge a premium rate for Empaths – a rate some say borders on extortion.  _

_ Hardly, Larry, hardly. It’s a simple matter of supply and demand. There is a massive demand for Empaths, or at least paired kinetic and empath work, and with the shortage, massive shortage, of Empaths, unfortunately you need to pay premium rates to secure a booking.  _

_ Are they really that hard to find, Empaths? _

_ Oh yes, yes indeed. I know Senator Harrison has been making allegations that we are deliberating pushing up the prices, and not actively looking for Empaths but the fact remains, identifying Empaths is a great deal harder than identifying Telekinetics. _

_ How so? _

_ Quite simply, an emerging kinetic is easy to spot. They move something or someone in a moment of high emotion. They want to gain more control, get better at it, and so invariably seek us out. Or we find them. Empaths though, what they do is not so noticeable. They read emotion, and then respond. They soothe, comfort, try to make things easier and an emerging Empath does this unconsciously and so subtly, so naturally, that no one notices. They tend to be popular people, charming and easy going and make friends easily. Not very noticeable or identifiable at all. _

_ So we could be sitting with hundreds of unknown Empaths out there? _

_ Possibly, but I am sure that they are as rare as Telekinetics. _

_ How then do you identify them? Surely it doesn’t mean waiting for an incident like Galvaston? _

_ Definitely not. And it’s easy, the best way to find an Empath, get them to meet a Kinetic. Telekinetics are drawn to Empaths, especially unpaired ones. And I can tell you, just about every Empath we have on record was either identified by a kinetic or was already working, or paired with one.  _

_ Ah, then your plans to send Telekinetics into schools, to talk about T&E has an underlying motive? _

_ One we have been very upfront about, Larry. Yes. And it as a result of Galvaston – if that poor lad had been found before things got so bad, well... _

_ When was the last time you found an Empath, Mr Smith? _

_ Well, just the other day, we lucked out on a trial run in Pennsylvania. This here is Melissa Stevens, 17 years old and our brand new Empath. _

_ Pretty girl. _

_ Oh yes, cheerleader, honor roll, prom queen. She is very excited to join us and had no idea she was an Empath. _

- _ Transcript from the Larry King Live interview of Don Smith, Director of T&E, 1988. _


	5. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 5a/9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

  


Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 5a/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 5

The facebrick wall was rough against his suit jacket, the little ridges and imperfections catching against the material as he shifted, transferring his weight from one foot to the next. An experienced investigator knew the value of patience, of the necessity of waiting out a suspect, the long stake out, the time it took to verify lab results, or sometimes just waiting for a perp to slip up and then ... whammo! ‘You’re nicked.’ 

Grinning a little to himself, Tony rubbed his back against the wall some more, running over a few of his favourite lines from the Guy Ritchie-fest he had gorged himself on last night. It had been good to lose himself in the gritty British underworld for a while, forget about the tensions and issues swamping his team. 

But getting to the office this morning and then waiting for Gibbs and then having to phone him to find out where in the hell he was had just slammed all the dials back up to 11 and now, he was waiting. For Gibbs.

Gibbs was pretty darn punctual, usually the first on scene, usually the first to the field the call and sure, sure, he’d been off his game a little, ok a lot, the last few months but ole Touchy-Feely Winchester was supposed to make things better. Monday had been an utter disaster from the whole ‘make Gibbs as calm as Gibbs can be’ perspective and sure, yesterday had been better but there had been no case and now there was and who in the hell knew what Deano was going to do today. 

Nonetheless, Tony had a plan – he was going to take charge of the situation and just smooth Gibbs through the rest of the week and by then, hopefully whatever it was, would have taken and they could boot Winchester to the curb. Yep, that was the plan. Gibbs just needed to arrive.

And there they were. 

Gibbs looked like... Gibbs – so no danger signs there but with the Boss you never could tell. Winchester looked pretty relaxed and was scanning the surrounding buildings, checking out a few Marines as they passed. No thundercloud of petulance over him either, so maybe things were going to go better today.

“Morning, Boss! Deano!”

“Dinozzo,” Gibbs nodded as he strode past and Tony had to launch himself off the wall to catch up, skirting Dean as he did.

“Glad you made it, Boss! Rough night? Late night... wait, forget I asked. Ah, one quick thing,” Dinozzo had managed to get ahead of Gibbs and tried to head his Boss off, slowing down and putting out his hand, but not touching, definitely not touching.

An eyebrow was raised and Tony shot out, “Things are little sensitive up there. It’s more than just a break in. The officers were all at some fancy do last night, and came back to find their stuff trashed and the hall vandalised.”

“And?”

“And why us and not the MPs? Because of the vandalism – vindictive kinda stuff, Boss. Graffiti, broken personal items, urine on the beds, you know... sensitive stuff.”

Gibbs started walking again, heading for the stairs and Tony continued, trying to match his long stride, “The graffit’s pretty graphic as well, but nothing personal per say, like ‘Major Jane is a ...you now.’ It’s more general. But they’re all upset and spent the night in secure residences. Hence the call, Boss.”

By now, one flight of stairs later, Gibbs was pushing through the stairwell door and immediately the red spray painted word ‘Dykes’ greeted them. “Gloves, and that means you, Winchester.” 

Gibbs didn’t stick around to actually enforce the order so Dinozzo ferreted for a pair in his kit and tossed them at Winchester who was soon snapping them on with disturbing ease. 

“Done this before, I see.”

“You have no idea.”

Momentarily floored and subsequently rendered speechless by Dean’s response, or rather the fact that he had responded, Dinozzo stammered, “Say, what?”

But Dean was gone, following Gibbs down the hall. “Must have heard wrong,” Tony muttered to himself and then hustled down the hall. Gibbs was talking to a stern faced Major, who was either in charge of the residence or an aggrieved female officer, either way, Tony had steered clear of her. He could hear the sound of Ziva snapping away from one of the rooms and McGee was no doubt elbow deep in some Captain’s underwear drawer ... it was time to go to work.

Pasting on a serious look, trying to look like the professional he was, Dinozzo snagged Dean’s elbow and said, cheerfully, “Hey, Mr Talky, why don’t you help me in here.” And then bodily dragged a not overly resistant Winchester into the nearest quarters. 

The name on the door was Captain JG Fredericks and it seemed that the Captain liked lacy underwear because it was now strewn all over her room. Her books, pictures and CDs had been totalled, and her mattress slashed. There was sure to be load of DNA evidence here and the surest indication of that was ...just plain disgusting. The moron had actually taken a dump in the middle of her carpet. 

“Lovely. How come I’m the one that’s gets the shit-filled room?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

Winchester was poking through some of the underwear, looking for who knew what and Tony hissed, “Hey, make yourself useful. Bag some of that and mark it on the sheet in the kit. Then show me – kay?”

Grimacing, Tony got to work, gingerly approaching the pile of crap, his hand covered in several evidence bags. “Man, I’m going to be smelling shit for the rest of the day. Gah!” Poo successfully sampled, Tony zipped up the bag and said, “Gotcha, idiot!”

Happily bagging underwear, Dean picked up a spray can which had been left on the dresser, no doubt fizzling out on the ‘Bitc’ scrawled over the mirror. As he dropped the can in a large bag, his head snapped to the right and he stared at the wall opposite. Tony felt the hairs on his arm stand just a little and he didn’t know if it was because of something Dean was doing or just nerves on his part.

“What?”

No response but Dean was on move, tossing the bags on the floor near the kit and Tony said, “Hold up will you!”

Following Winchester into the hall, he nearly smacked right into the back of him as Dean was standing stock still, head titled just a little – like he was listening for something. Gibbs was nowhere in sight and Tony wondered if that was perhaps the problem. 

And then Dean was off, past one door then another and then he paused between two open doorways, McGee in the one room and the other empty. Again the weird listening thing and Tony opened his mouth to comment, when Dean’s head snapped towards the room on the immediate right, and was again moving.

“Damn, man. We need to get you a collar, like Doug in Up. Point!”

And point it was because Dean was now hovering near another ransacked dresser, clothes and underwear tossed every which way. “And?” Tony demanded, coming up alongside Dean, studying the drawers as well. A curious McGee stuck his head in and Dinozzo yelled, “Back to work, Mcslacky. Nothing to see here. Just Doug at work.”

“Nice.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed in his defence, making his eyes wide and innocent at Dean’s unimpressed glare.“I say again. And?”

“Whatever they were after, it was here.”

His forehead crinkling in a combination of confusion and disbelief, Tony said, “They? It? Who said ‘they’ were ‘after’ anything?” He was an expert, in his humble opinion, at adding the nonverbal inverted quotation marks of doom. 

“Don’t know, man. But whatever they found here they were real happy about – like mission accomplished.” 

Frowning still, Tony reached forward to poke the drawer in question’s contents and Dean stepped back to let him. “How do you know they weren’t excited to find ... a vibrator or cash or coke or something.”

“Because they stopped looking after this.”

“Say what?”

“The rest of the rooms, they’re not trashed.”

Tony stared at Winchester and then yelled, “Hey, McGee! Check out the rooms down the rest of the hall.”

There was a heartbeat of stunned and affronted silence and then Tim stuck his head in the room again, “What?”

“Just do it, McGee!”

The Probie’s offended footsteps trudged down the hall and he yelled back, “There’s only two more rooms after this and then a rec room.”

Returning and standing in the doorway, McGee said, “The last two aren’t as trashed, just graffiti on the door and lamps smashed.”

“Ha!” Tony waved a triumphant finger at Dean, who shrugged and said, “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Come on, man. That’s a bit of a stretch – all this for something in a Marine Captain’s drawers.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, the grey jumpsuit material stretching, Dean shrugged again, “Whatever. But if you wanted to cover up a search and seizure... this’d be the way to do it.”

“He has a point, Tony.” McGee was grinning a little, now leaning on the doorframe. 

“On his head, maybe. Don’t you have vandalism to process, McGee?”

Still grinning, Tim ambled off and Dean seemed disinclined to help anymore, staring at a picture on the wall. Grumbling, Tony had to concede that he did have a point, actually, and he mumbled, “Wait here, Doug....”

Dean flipped him the bird as he left and Tony laughed as he hurried down the hall to fetch his evidence bags and kit. 

Winchester was still looking at the picture when he got back and Tony glanced up at it, wondering what was so interesting. It was of a couple, smiling happily at the camera, sitting on a deck somewhere, an ocean stretching out behind them. The guy in the picture looked a little cheesy, black hair coiffed in one of those ridiculous trendy spikes, while the girl was blonde, gorgeous and way out of his league. 

“Hmmmm... you getting vibes or something.”

“Doesn’t work that way.”

Snorting, Tony pulled out his bags, fingerprint brush and tin, and replied, “Oh, and this does?”

“Residual emotion.” Winchester was still staring at the picture, begloved hands in his pockets, seemingly miles away.

“Yeah, that really clears things up.”

“Dean?”

Gibbs’s voice was so unexpected that Tony nearly dropped his application brush into the drawer and whipped around, “Boss!”

But Gibbs’s attention was focused on Winchester who slowly dragged his gaze from the picture and nodded towards Tony. “They were looking for something. Found it here.”

There was no doubt or questioning eyebrow or hmph of disdain. No, Gibbs looked up at the name on the door, and said, “Let’s go talk to Captain LH Cadman then.”

The pair trooped off, leaving Dinozzo alone in the room – stunned. Dropping the brush anyway, Tony yelled, “Wait for me, Boss.”

He ran past Ziva who was just exiting the room she had been processing and yelled, “Sorry!”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Tony landed with sharp painful thud, and hop-limped out of the building to find Gibbs talking to the scary Major again. 

“She was here, just a moment ago. Wanted an update.”

“Well now I have questions, Major Nel.”

Heart beating a little too fast for comfort, Tony faked casual and sidled up to Dean, making like he was supposed to be there, which he was. Captain Cadman hadn’t got too far and after a quick phone call by the Major, she was trotting up the sidewalk, looking very pretty in her dress uniform.

“Ma’am. Sirs.”

Gibbs stuck out his hand and said, “Agent Gibbs, Captain. Like the Major said, we have a few questions.”

“Of course, sir. Anything to help.”

Shaking his head at the ‘sir’, Gibbs continued, “It seems that the perps were in fact looking for something. Something that they found in your room.”

“My room, sir?”

“Don’t call me, sir, Captain. Agent Gibbs is fine. And yes, your room.”

Folding his arms, Tony watched the flicker of emotion over the Captain’s face. At first she genuinely appeared confused but them something registered and she stiffened. “I can’t think of anything that they’d be looking for. I’m not stationed anywhere at present, just attending training at Quantico.” She swallowed the almost ‘sir’ and shifted a little almost folding her own arms in a defensive gesture, before stopping herself.

Tony didn’t need an Empath to tell that she was lying, or more likely, covering up and neither did Gibbs. “You sure, Captain? Might not be related to your current posting, maybe an old one.”

Captain Cadman fidgeted, shot a wary look at the Major, who was giving her an equally quelling look and she sighed, “Pretty sure, sir.”

“You don’t sound sure, Captain. What was your last assignment?”

“Officially or unofficially?”

She was looking Gibbs straight in the eye now, a little belligerentand defensive, her arms now folded and wrapped around her torso. 

“Does it matter?”

Nodding fiercely, Captain Cadman affirmed, “Oh yes, sir. Because I know you don’t have clearance for the unofficially and you won’t believe the officially.” 

“You certain I don’t have clearance?”

“Positive, sir.”

“And officially?”

“Camp Lejeune. ”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that.”

“Like I said.”

Tony interjected, noting that Dean was paying close attention to the conversation but standing back, off to one side so that it didn’t look like he was involved. “Captain, you sure there’s nothing from your unofficial post that might be of interest... that perhaps you shouldn’t have?”

She tried to stop her reaction by taking a deep breath but she blushed anyway. Gibbs stepped closer, crowding her little, despite the Major’s cough, and said, “What do you have?”

Twitching now in embarrassment, Cadman seemed like she was shutting down, preparing to hide behind her ‘classified’ posting when she glanced over at Dean. Her fidgeting stilled and she took a deep breath and turned back to Gibbs.

“It was a keepsake. A ... something to remember a friend by – a friend who died. I shouldn’t have kept it, should have left it on .... at the base. But I kept it.” Cadman stared at Gibbs with an air of defiance, daring him a little. “It doesn’t have any information, or data or anything ... it was just a stupid ornament that reminded me of Cars... of my friend.”  
  


“An ornament?”

“Yes.” 

Gibbs shot a glance at Winchester who ignored him, before probing further, “What kind of an ornament?”

Sighing, Captain Cadman huffed, “Just that, sir. An ornament. I shouldn’t have taken it, because nothing is supposed to leave ... there. I know it’s not important or a breach of security but ...”

“It’s valuable?” Tony asked, thinking that maybe it was some Iraqi or Afghani historical nick nack. 

Cadman was hesitant but nodded, “I suppose. But I don’t ...”

“Can you describe it?”

Way ahead of his Boss, Tony whipped out his note pad and began making notes as Cadman sighed, “Small, blue – kinda looks like a turtle with extra flippers. Carson... my friend used it as a paperweight, for crying out loud! It doesn’t ... I didn’t do anything wrong ... really.”

Heartfelt her conviction might be but she didn’t sell them on it, and Tony finished off his mini-sketch with a note, ‘Carson?’

“Anything else you may have ... kept?” Gibbs loaded that last word with connotation and meaning and Cadman blushed again, this time in anger.

“No, sir,” and she stressed the ‘sir’. “One damn ornament.”

“Right. And you have no idea why someone would want it?”

“No! Are you even sure that they were searching for it?” This time Cadman glanced at Dean, studied him for a moment or more likely his jumpsuit and then took a step away from him. “Are you sure?”

“Reasonably. That’s all for now, Captain.”

Nodding at Winchester, Gibbs thanked the Major and turned back towards the residence hall, Winchester on his heels. Tony smiled at both ladies, who both glared back at him and he beat a hasty retreat.

Entering the cool foyer of the building, Tony said loudly, “You want me to check out her last deployment, sir?”

From up the stairs, Tony could hear Gibbs growl, “What do you think, Dinozzo?”

Pausing to pack away his note pad, Tony sighed to himself, “I’ll slap myself on the head, Boss. Don’t worry.”

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Ziva sent him back down to the van to get more evidence bags. There was plenty of trace and DNA evidence – whoever had done this either didn’t watch TV, lived in the 19th century, was a out of time criminal from the 70s or a moron. Either way, Tony was certain that Abby would identify them, their last known address, last meal and IQ. 

The trip back the Navy Yard was the usual mix of banter and threats, mostly from Ziva who was trying to convince Tony to pull over and let her drive – apparently he drove like a geriatric snail. McGee in the back was playing on his phone, no doubt im-ing Abby and giving her an update.

As they pulled into the garage, Gibbs’s town car following them in, Abby was waiting for them, her pigtails braided and bouncing in time with her excitement.

Smiling at her, Tony called out, “A welcoming committee, how nice Abs.” 

But she paid no attention to him and as Winchester got out of the passenger side of the town car, she exclaimed, “What the hell did you do to my gas chromatograph, Dean? Huh?”

Ah, immunity to Winchester’s charms was developing, and Tony smiled as Dean was dragged from the garage, Abby bending his ear with demands that he ‘make it stop screaming, right now!’

 

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	6. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 5b/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

  


Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 5b/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 5b

 

Thursday morning dawned with practised ease, the sun peaking over the horizon with nary a cloud in the sky. The air was chilly enough to make running a pleasure, especially with the occasional breeze in the warming morning. 

Digging deeper, pushing his body past the normal barriers of exhaustion, Gibbs pounded down the sidewalk, making for the open park a block over. It felt good, running, adrenalin surging and muscles singing in concert. His headache from yesterday was finally gone, the aches a distant complaint. 

As a matter of course, of habit, Gibbs scanned the surrounding area, noting the few early risers both on foot and in their cars. The park normally had a few fellow runners and as he glanced right, then left and crossed the road, Gibbs noted Dean a few feet behind him, struggling to keep up. The guy hadn’t quit yet, seemed to relish the chance to run, but he was definitely out of shape.

The presence of his Empath behind him was less of an incessant itch today. Rather than feel a constant urge to touch him or be near him, it felt more comfortable, more like a piece settling into place. He couldn’t exactly tell what Dean was feeling, hadn’t ever really been able to unless it was some sort of empathic backlash. But he seemed more at ease, less angry, less twitchy. Or at least, he was co-operating more – hell, even helping. It felt- nice. 

He stopped at a water fountain under a large oak tree and waited for Dean to catch up. It didn’t take him too long, the gap between them wasn’t that big. Dean’s already very short hair was plastered to his skull and his borrowed t-shirt was soaked through. 

As Dean gulped down some water, Gibbs stretched a little and said softly, “Kinda outa shape.”

Flicking his hands, spraying Gibbs a little with water, Winchester shrugged and muttered, “Not a lot of opportunity to run – and not something they really encourage... running.”

Looking up through the trees, their leafy canopy obscuring the early morning sky, Gibbs sighed, “Sure.”

Dean was more concerned with catching his breath than talking though and Gibbs waited a few minutes before saying, “Come, 3 more miles then home.”

“And coffee?”

Gibbs ignored him, already lengthening his pace for the final push home. 

 

When he walked into the bullpen, Tony shot up out of his seat like it was on fire and said brightly, “Morning, Gibbs! Director Vance needs you in MTAC. An op is going down and ...” 

Snagging Dean, who was ambling towards the coffee machine, and the pretty Agent Miller, Gibbs pointed him towards Tony and said, “Stay put. No disappearing. I don’t want to have to go looking for you.”

Scowling, Dean nodded, and Gibbs trotted up stairs, coffee cup in hand. Dean just stood staring at Tony and Tim, both of whom stared back. Yesterday Dean had hid out in Abby’s lab, as usual, but now... 

“Ah,... you can go sit at Gibbs desk...” McGee offered.

Sighing, with one last look at the coffee machine, Dean collapsed into Gibbs’s seat . Somewhat satisfied, McGee turned back to his screen. Tony watched them both then picked up his phone and starting dialling. There was blissful quiet for a few minutes but soon the irritating squeak of a chair twisting could be heard, repeatedly. 

After a few pointed stares, Dean stopped, with a happy smirk. But it soon started up again... this time in concert with the clicking of a pen. 

Slamming down his phone, Tony drawled, “Why don’t you just put a game on for him, McGoogle.”

Like a jack rabbit, Tim stuck his head up over his monitor and shot a totally failed covert look at Dean before hissing, “Aren’t they not supposed to you know... get stimulated?”

Snorting, and noting that Dean was glaring at him, Tony laughed, “Please, like that’s possible.”

“Ew.”

Sitting up straight, Tony jabbed a finger at McGee and said, “Just give him something to do before I kill him.”

Clearly unhappy, McGee muttered, “’Kay.” 

Winchester didn’t look too happy at being talked over, but he moved to give Tim room to access the PC. McGee bypassed the usual firewalls and loaded one of better online games. 

Standing back, he motioned for Dean to come closer, “There, just use those keys and ... kay kay, so you get it.” Dean was already at the keyboard, tapping away, a muttered ‘thanks’ directed at McGee. 

Curious now, Tony scrambled over, and stuck his head around the PC, “Whatcha find, McGeek? Ohhhh, old arcade style pacman. Sweet!”

Tim shrugged, “McGoogle inspired me.” 

“Oh yeah .... To wasted man hours!” Tony raised his fist, demanding McGee fist bump in return but Tim shook his head and left Tony hanging. Surprisingly, Dean dutifully completed the bump, sending a sharp ‘buzz’ of energy with it. 

Snatching back his hand, Dinozzo exclaimed, “Ouch, what the hell, man?”

“That was for yesterday and the dog comments.”

McGee gaped open mouthed and Tony hissed, “That was yesterday! And you gave me the finger already!”

Dean just smiled, unrepentant and Tony flounced off in a huff. Tim however looked strangely pleased.“Wipe that smile off, McGee! We still have vandalising dirt bags to catch. Gibbs is gonna want results.”

Tim just ignored him.

 

As Vance and Gibbs left MTAC, they walked into the charged atmosphere more familiar with an amusement park or concert or... 

“What the hell?”

Gibbs and Vance shared a look, Vance impressing all sorts of dire warnings in his. Unconsciously Gibbs _sent_ his ‘what the hell’ through the connection to Dean and the heightened excitement diminished dramatically, and Vance nodded, going into his office with a mutter.

Gibbs hurried down the stairs, seeing his team gathered awkwardly around his desk and Dean... who was transfixed on the PC screen. The loud, boisterous voices of the still affected agents in the room was grating and Gibbs pushed his own rising excitement down and _growled_ , ‘Hey!’

His team took one look at him and scattered, disappearing to attend to urgent bladders or coffee runs. Left alone, Dean looked up, an odd mix of anger and shame on his face. 

“Having fun?”

Shrugging, Dean tapped on the keyboard defiantly but eventually stopped under the Gibbs glare. 

“I am fairly certain that we discussed this already ... “

Dean just looked mutinous and pushed away from the desk, folding his arms. A dying, alarm type of noise came from the PC and Gibbs looked over in concern to see some weird alien thing die in an explosion of blood

“Nice.”

Dean shrugged.

“Come on, we’re going to put those abilities of yours to better use.” 

Backing Dean away from the desk, acutely aware of their proximity after being upstairs for so long, Gibbs reached down under the desk, drawing out his backup bag. Tossing it at Dean, he said, “Find something that fits, you’re not going out looking like a mental patient.”

Confused and surprised he said, “Really?’ and Gibbs nodded. “Get moving.”

Not waiting for further instruction, Dean ambled off to the gents at not exactly at the fastest pace, but with more spring in his step than usual. Tony prematurely stuck his head around the corner, nearly ducked away when he saw Gibbs but since Gibbs had seen him, he stepped out, wide smile in place. 

“Hey, Boss, going somewhere?”

“Intel op in Bahrain has flagged a few names. We’re going to go chat with three who are in DC.”

“Oh great, I’ll round up the others...”

“Winchester and I are going.”

Flummoxed, Tony said “Oh ... swell, Boss. And us...”

“The usual, Dinozzo...”

“Crap, I hate doing background checks, Boss, you know that .. on it, on it.” 

“And when Ziva and McGee come out of hiding, get them to run down whatever leads Abby’s been able to get from the Quantico Burglary.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Dean was back before Ziva and McGee, who apparently had better Gibbsdar than Dinozzo and Tony whistled loudly at the sight of Winchester in jeans and an off white shirt. He raised his fist in warning and tossed the lighter bag back at Gibbs who neatly caught it.

“Let’s go.”

“Have fun, Boss ...”

Their first person of interest was in Arlington and Gibbs drove with his usual speed on the 395, heading over the bridge. Adopting his usual posture of slumped boredom or disinterest, Winchester was staring out the window.

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee, which was rapidly approaching tepid and felt a peaked interest from the seat next to him. Hungry eyes were fixed on his cup and Gibbs said, “I think you’ve have enough stimulation for one morning, bub.”

Dean pursed his lips, momentarily looking like he was preparing to wrestle the coffee from Gibbs, who in response calmly took another sip. Pasting on a look of faked disinterest Dean returned to his study of the road.

Person of interest one wasn’t at home and person of interest two could talk the hind leg off a donkey. Dean was smirking by the time Gibbs managed to get away and Jethro _sent_ a half hearted nudge his way, but the smirk was firmly in place.They clambered back into the car, heading to towards person of interest number three.

Haniff Limalia was a third generation American citizen who owned an internet cafe and the wave of irate anger that washed off him was intense. Gibbs felt a smattering of the emotion from Dean, and Winchester hissed, “He’s pissed!”

They had barely entered the store when Limalia said, “No, not again. I don’t care what you think you know or think I know, but this enough! No!”

“Look, Mr Limalia...”

Cutting Gibbs off, his hands waving furiously, “I am a damn American, I was born in Kentucky! I haven’t ever been out of the country, I don’t speak Arabic! I am sick and tired of being harassed because I’m a Muslim and own an internet cafe!”

Preparing to bulldoze past the man’s anger, Gibbs felt a surge of empathic energy from Dean, who was smiling next to him – the picture of friendliness and reasonableness. Limalia flattered in his tirade as he felt whatever it was Dean was doing and he stammered, “I will not be ...”

Turning it up a notch, making Gibbs’s hair at the back of his neck stand on end, Dean flooded the small cafe with feelings of calm, quiet and peace. The two customers who had been staring at the confrontation with wide eyes, slumped a little in their seats. Limalia continued to open his mouth, as if trying to expel the rest of his vitriol at the government. 

Nudging Gibbs, Dean indicated towards Haniff and Gibbs stepped closer and said in as reasonable a tone as he could, “We’re sorry to disturb you, Mr Limalia, but we were wondering if this man has ever been in your cafe?”

He showed a picture of their first person of interest and Haniff, who was starting to smile, picked up the picture and said, “Ah .... not too sure. But I... have security cameras in here. Was getting tired of being accused of ... harbouring terrorists. You want the video?”

Smiling himself, as Dean turned the calm and peace into ‘feeling good and all was well with the world’ vibes, Gibbs said, “That would be great, sir.”

Haniff returned with the disks, his face a little confused as he handed them over and Dean said, his voice filled with all manner of charm, “You pissed off enough to turn a blind eye?”

Smiling back, Limalia shook his head, “Nah, these jihad idiots give all Muslims a bad name. Just wish you lot would see beyond the burka, right?”

Turning to look at Gibbs, resting his elbows on the shop counter, Dean nodded, “Totally, man. Government’s a real bitch at times.”

Gibbs tucked the disks into his pocket and said, “Thank you, Mr Limalia. Your co-operation is appreciated.”

Limalia smiled back and said cheerfully, “Screw you, g-man.” 

As they left the shop, Dean dialled the happy vibe down, and said quietly to Gibbs, “He’ll feel a little confused but will probably associate you with ‘good’ things...” 

Gibbs smacked Dean on the back and said, “Great. Get in.”

There was a highbrow, gourmet coffee place a few blocks away and Dean looked up in hope as Gibbs parked the car. Ordering his usual black, Gibbs wondered if maybe Dean was one of those guys who liked mocho crappa things but figured if he did, he’d just have to be happy with straight black.

Pocketing a few sugar packets, Gibbs paid and left the shop, heading towards the car. Dean’s eyes light up at the sight of two cups and then turned hungry as Gibbs handed one over to him. 

“You did good work back there....” Gibbs said as he handed over the cup. 

The cold wash of anger was unexpected, and Dean snarled, “I ain’t your damn dog, Gibbs.”

Calmly, Gibbs said, “I know.” 

After glaring at Gibbs some more, it seemed the allure of coffee was greater than his affront over the ‘good behaviour’ reward and he took a sip and sighed in lusty pleasure. “Sugar?”

Gibbs tossed him a few packets and Dean methodically poured them all in and then settled back to savour his coffee.Fighting the unfair and childish urge to say ‘good boy’ after all that, Gibbs turned the engine over and pulled away.

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_ And you are maintaining, Ms da Silva that there have been recent, confirmed sightings of Dr Bishop. _ _ _

_ Most definitely, Kathy. T&E and the government don’t want to cause a national panic, so they have been covering these sightings up. _ _ _

_ Do you have proof, Ms da Silva? _ _ _

_ Oh yes, pictures, testimonies, DNA evidence. _ _ _

_ That is shocking, truly shocking _ _ _

- _ Extract from the cancelled Kathy Lake show, last aired 8 August 1992 _ _ _

 

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	7. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 6/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

  


Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 6 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

A/N: apologies for the delay in posting chapter 6. After hacking at for days, I decided to scrap most of it as it wasn’t gelling. Instead, chapter 7 content got bumped and is now much longer with the essential elements of the original chapter 6. Not that my process makes much difference to you, but nonetheless, there you go.

Chapter 6

The normally harsh security lights illuminating the Navy Yard perimeter were softened by the overcast gloomy night. The bullpen floor was quiet and practically empty, the hustle and bustle of a late Friday afternoon long past. 

Ziva slipped quietly into the room, her thoughts half buried still in the file she was holding and half already at home, planning a late evening meal. At times it still felt odd, not going home early for the start of the Sabbath but given enough time, anything felt normal. Looking up, she saw the back of Gibbs’s head, grey hair shining white in the desk lamp as he looked out at the starless night. Then again, Washington night skies were frequently starless, only the brightest and biggest clearing past smog, light and distance. Somewhat true for people in Washington, too.

No doubt his mind was actually on their case or rather lack of one. 

“Gibbs.”

“Ziva.” 

McGee barely looked up from his screen as she walked past and Ziva slipped behind her desk, noting the five or so emails which had come in. Thankfully Tony was already gone otherwise his frustrated buoyancy would have been like grating fingernails by now. 

Reaching over to turn her PC off Ziva sighed loudly, “Anything new from Abby?”

McGee ignored her but Gibbs shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Right.”

There was a disturbing lack of results from all of the evidence they had collected, Abby was a whirlstorm of determination and optimism that was rapidly flagging. Strangely enough, Gibbs didn’t seem too concerned – for Gibbs anyway. They weren’t working the weekend, for one. And second, he wasn’t growling at anyone – yet. 

In fact, Gibbs seemed – happy. Content. And while that couldn’t be anything but good, it didn’t seem natural. Gibbs at his best was abrasive and gruff – this more mellow, relaxed version was ... disturbing in its own right. 

Glancing over at McGee and judging by the surreptitious smirk lifting his lips, McGee was slacking off ... probably perusing some site of geekdom. Her computer finally shut down, the quiet hum of the fan disappearing and Ziva stood, snatching up her handbag. “See you on Monday.” McGee looked up long enough to wave her goodbye, “See ya, Ziva.” Gibbs just nodded. 

Suddenly the sound of twanging guitars filled the air and startled, Gibbs scrambled on his belt for his phone. The long mournful sound of ‘ _Belinda was mine’ til the time that I found her, holding Jim ...’_ Finally Gibbs freed his phone and snapped it open, growling, “Gibbs!” his cheeks actually tinted with red. Curious both about the ring tone and the call, Ziva paused, leaning against her desk. Tim was a disembodied head, straining to see over his computer screen.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, 395, we’ll be there.” Gibbs snapped the phone closed, stared at it momentarily before tossing it at McGee, snarling, “Fix it!”

“Ah, sure, sure, Boss,” McGee stammered, opening the phone again. Ziva was about to ask what was going on when she felt the hairs on her arms and at the back of her neck stand on end. Gibbs was clearing his desk, shutting down his PC and glowering at everything ... and looking very Gibbslike. He stalked around his desk and slammed a hand down on McGee’s desk, barely startling Tim who was well used his Boss’s ways and quickly handed the phone back with, “All done, Boss. Back to normal.”

There was a distant ding from the elevator that led down to Abby’s lab and then Dean trotted into view, a small smirk on his face. “You,” Gibbs pointed an annoyed finger at him, before continuing, “We got a multicar pile up on the Beltway. And leave my phone the hell alone.”

“Sure thing.” If there was an ounce of remorse in him, Winchester’s mischievous grin obscured it but he followed Gibbs towards the main elevator, carefully checking Ziva out as he went past, his smile turning a little dirty. 

Ziva glared in response but let him go unmolested and watched the elevator doors close. Tim stood up, his own PC shutting down now and said loudly, “Just when you think things aren’t going to get weirder...”

“Yes,” Ziva nodded, still looking at the elevator. Tim joined her at her desk and sighed, “Gibbs might be less...er... “

“Crunchy?”

“Grouchy. And yeah ... but it’s still weird.”

“Yes,” Ziva sighed, “Yes, it is.”

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The sensation of sharp knives slicing into his chest lingered as Gibbs startled awake, the remnants of the nightmare like shards in his memory. Staggering up, ignoring the protest of aching muscles still strained from the kinetic work of last night, Gibbs stumbled into his ensuite and _flipped_ on the lights. The harsh fluorescent glare was a welcome difference from the dark, terrifying images of his dream and he gulped down several handfuls of cold water from the faucet. 

Glancing at his reflection it was a momentary relief to see it was blood free but he couldn’t help reaching up onto his chest and checking for the wounds that had felt so real. His hand came away clean, finding only the soft, worn material of his t-shirt. Groaning a little, Gibbs shoved himself up and off the basin, running his wet hands through his hair. His hands were still shaking, trembling and Gibbs sat down awkwardly on the closed toilet seat, still trying to calm down. 

It was so easy to revisit the raw fear and adrenalin of the nightmare, easy to just slip right back in and feel his chest being sliced open, the cooper tang of blood in his mouth, the twisting fear and panic as _Dad, Dad, stop Dad, stop, please_ spilled out of him with the blood, an anguished cry of ‘Dean!’ ringing in his ears. And even as Jethro fought the surge of fear, he couldn’t stop the tremble in his hands. None of it made sense, not the invisible knives, nor the yellow eyes, not the shuddering crash of metal on metal that knocked him from dreaming into wakefulness. 

Searching, trying to clear the images from emotion, Gibbs couldn’t even be sure of anything he’d _seen_ but the feelings, oh, they remained raw and real. Despair and fear, ragged terror. No stranger to nightmares and grief, Gibbs stood and strode out of the bathroom. It was early, very early, the sun still a distant promise and the house was quiet. 

Pausing at the door to Dean’s room, Gibbs tried once more to fix the faces and names, the place even from the dream but it was fading rapidly, leaving only the ragged emotions probably still seeping from their _connection._ He twisted the doorknob and let the door drift open on its own, silent and slow. The room was still shrouded in darkness, only the light from the half open blinds illuminating the room. Winchester was a hunched silhouette on the bed, the cover’s waves and crests testament to his restless slumber.

Dean didn’t turn around, despite being well aware of Gibbs remaining turned to the window, watching the sky lighten by degrees. He didn’t look too shaken or disturbed, a deceptive calm aura around him. But the air in the room, the lingering atmosphere reeked of fear and sweat. Figuring most of what he was ‘feeling’ was coming through their connection and that otherwise he’d never know Winchester was shaken, Gibbs pondered his next step.

It’d be easy to leave it, let it lie, let Dean have his privacy and that Gibbs’ natural inclination anyway. He didn’t like people prying into his personal life and he reciprocated in kind. This however, this was big, spoke of abuse and pain and hurt and maybe Dean did need to talk about it. 

Dean’s shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly but perhaps because Gibbs had been watching for it, he caught it and instead of going against the grain, Jethro said softly, “Well since you’re up ... let’s go for a run.”

The nod was terse, dismissive but Dean’s relief was palatable. Shutting the door behind him, Gibbs padded back to his own room, already planning on extending his normal 5 miles to 10. 

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Monday morning dawned with its usual insistence, sweeping away the scattered remains of weekend parties, wasted time and banished hopes that somehow maybe, Monday wouldn’t come.

“You need to break the connection.” Winchester was standing in the kitchen, bare foot as usual and holding that damn taser. 

The remainder of the weekend had been quiet – dream free. Abby had come over, bringing her beloved car for a tune up. Saturday afternoon had been filled with the noise of classic rock and Abby’s laughter. Sunday had been productive, cleaning out the basement workshop, quiet and content. Everything just felt... stable, peaceful. It had been a pretty good weekend.

“Why? I sure as hell don’t like it and you definitely don’t.” Gibbs had his back to Dean, determinedly buttering a piece of toast. Abby had apparently filled his breadbin and fridge. 

“They normally do a surprise inspection a week in... on loans. They’re going to come by the office today.” Winchester was still in the doorway, hair mussed, t-shirt so badly wrinkled it looked like he’d been cleaning the floor with it. 

“You sure?”

“No, I like having my brain fried on a regular basis! Yes, I’m sure.” There was plenty of attitude and annoyance in his voice, a front of bravado with which Jethro was familiar. He saw it quite often, or rather heard it, in Dinozzo.

Gibbs shoved in a mouthful of eggs in, studying Winchester, who had his ‘resolute’ face on – as Abby had named it the other day. “No, I’ll take my chances...”

“Screw that, man! They’ll just make you do it right there and then take me away. You’ll never get another shot at an Empath again.”

Very little feeling leaked through the connection these days but Gibbs could taste fear and desperate need in the air, along with his eggs and suddenly losing all interest in breakfast, he put his fork down.

“What’s the likelihood of me getting an Empath again, anyway?” The trickle of disappointed anger was barely curtailed and Jethro figured Dean was maybe pinning a small, private hope on him doing ... something. The something remained undetermined and ill defined but just knowing that someone, somewhere, with a little bit of influence didn’t approve of the T&E methods made a difference. Apparently Gibbs was pouring cold water on that small hope now. 

“Look, Dean ...”

“Just trust me, man. It’s for ... it’ll be better this way, you can ...” Winchester’s face was a contrast to his body language, tense lines and stressed muscles. No matter what he was saying, he did not want this either. 

Undetermined and ill defined but a desperate hope. “You really sure we need to do this – today.”

“Yes.” Winchester’s voice shook, just a little on that yes and he held out the taser and snatched his hand away when Gibbs took it. The black taser felt heavy. 

“Fine, go sit on the couch.” Dean nodded and left the room and Jethro took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come. If the first day had been bad, today was gonna suck royally - apparently. Winchester was sitting stiffly on the couch, eyes averted, hands twitching between fists and forced relaxation. 

Gibbs sat down next to him and said, “You sure?”

“Yes.” Terse, angry but resolute.

“Ok. On 3.”

“Just do it.”

So Gibbs did, flipping the taser on and placing the live end on Dean’s arm. The raw flood of ice and loss was staggering and as the taser current stopped, so did the flood. Unlike before though, he could still _feel_ Dean, _feel_ an array of pain and nausea but most of all disorientation as the metaphoric rug was pulled out from under him. 

“Again,” Dean stammered, raw and shaking but still upright. Gibbs hesitated but Dean already had his eyes closed so he quickly activated the damn thing again and shocked his Empath. The surge was less this time, less horrifying in its intensity but the yawning maw of _loss_ increased as now he could barely _feel_ Dean at all and it just felt wrong. 

Dean was flat on his back, collapsed in a boneless sprawl on the couch, shaking and trembling.

“Ag...ain.”

“No.”

Dean was insistent however, nodding his head as words failed him. 

Angry, at Winchester and at the whole damn situation, Gibbs hit him again, the ice barely noticeable now but the _loss_ complete. Alone, disconnected and isolated, Gibbs felt quite empty and a little drained. Dean however was spasming for real now, neck and back arched, jaw gritted as he rode out the pain. He wasn’t supposed to touch him ... although he longed too and considering that he hadn’t felt that overriding need over the past few days only emphasised the wrongness of the relationship that T &E were perpetuating.

It didn’t take Dean too long to gain control though, forcibly relaxing his body and slumping further into the couch. At his nod, which unfairly, Gibbs found to be too long in coming, Jethro shifted closer and placed his hands ‘near’ Dean’s head and just _felt_ the empathic field, drawing it in, stabilising his own equilibrium, the yawning hole of absence filling. 

The connection that resulted was paltry, weak and spiteful in its limitations and Gibbs only felt a more urgent need to _take_ more instead of leaving it well alone. “I know you can’t answer, just yet – but how in the hell am I supposed to just walk away from 2 weeks of this, after they break the connection and take you?”

Struggling, wetting dry lips and trembling, Dean hissed, “Fir.. first ones alw..always free.”

Ah, he wasn’t supposed to walk away satisfied. He was supposed to now happily fall in line with T&E scheduled sessions and working telekinetic guidelines. It was why they had agreed to this too – whether he was in their Centre or toting Dean around for 2 weeks, they got him hooked and ... that was it. He was theirs for life.

“Shit.”

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Throwing his bag into the corner, tossing a soft pastry onto his desk, Tony surveyed the bullpen and drew in a deep, content breath. Today was going to be a good day. Abby was going to find something on their burglary/vandalism case, he had a hot date on Thursday and Gibbs was back to normal. Life, she was good. 

As if summoned by the thought and in the same breath invoking Murphy, Gibbs stormed past, a vibrating figure of anger. “Hey, Boss.”

Gibbs ignored him, taking the stairs up to MTAC two at time. McGee and Ziva stared at his disappearing legs and then over at Tony. Like a good little lap dog, Dean strolled past, following in Gibbs wake. As he passed, Tony felt an unaccountable urge race through him, an itch, a need to just ... touch. Scowling, running his tongue over his lips at the sour taste in his mouth, Tony shook his hands, rubbing them briskly. “Damn.” Winchester climbed the stairs slowly, a little unsteady and Tony noted that both McGee and Ziva were either shaking off the effects or rubbing their hands on their clothes, trying to shake it off.

“What the hell happened?” Tim gaped, smoothing his hair, trying to look less disturbed.

Dinozzo didn’t answer, just shrugged but he had an inkling and as a result, a bad feeling. 

It was mid-morning when Tony found his moment. Gibbs had returned from MTAC, a little less pissed but Dean had not. Ziva and Tim had made themselves scarce and it was just the two of them in the immediate area. 

Acting as nonchalant as he could and with this, timing was everything, Tony sidled around his desk and said, “Hey, Boss.”

Casually, Tony stepped in front of Gibbs, preventing him from walking into the bullpen, his smile careful and fake cheery.

“Dinozzo?” Less grit and growl than earlier but still not chilled

“Uh, small thing, boss... just a ...” Unstuck despite all the many rehearsed conversations in his head now that he was eyeball to eyeball with his Boss, Tony floundered. 

At Gibbs’ raised eyebrows, Tony found his voice and said softly, “Ok, so it’s a little difficult not to ah ... notice Winchester. He kinda rubs people the right way as it were, you know?”

“No.” His tone said no, his face said yes.

Soldiering on, Dinozzo said, “Oh, ah – kinda has ‘touch me, you’ll like it’ vibe without all the creepy undertones you’d expect.”

Gibbs looked a little stunned and blurted, “You guys too?”

Realising that the slip would not go unnoticed, Tony bulldozed on, “Yeah, just a little but especially if you touch him and ... its kinda hard not to keep wanting ... to.”

“Yeah?” Gibbs didn’t actually seem angry but rather utterly floored. 

“Well, I guess because it’s so unusual, you’re hyperaware of it and kinda on edge only when it’s not so ... vibey you don’t notice so much because that’s more normal and you get used to that and then it’s even less noticeable like getting used to a fart, you know...”

“Dinozzo!” Smiling wanly, Tony decided to just bite the bullet, “What the hell is going on, Boss. Today Dean’s like a friggin lighthouse- all ‘touch me, touch me’ and that only makes me wonder what was different yesterday, or Friday or whatever!”

Instantly Gibbs shut down, his expression going from confused and concerned to business-Gibbs. “It’s got nothing to do with you, Tony.” He made to push past Dinozzo but Tony moved with him, his own smile growing fixed.

“No? I think it means you throwing away your telewahtsis or standing with T&E ... you’re not breaking the connection are you, before today that is?”

Gibbs shoved past, ignoring Tony and the accusation, face grim, which with Gibbs sometimes meant guilt or more often meant pissed off. 

“Boss!” Tony called but Gibbs was gone, probably heading down to Abby’s lab given his long stride. Alone, Tony sighed and then said quietly to himself, “You can’t mess around with these guys...”

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When Reception called up to advise Gibbs that he had a visitor, Jethro swallowed his sudden lump of nerves and mumbled something appropriate. Refusing to look over at Dinozzo who was far too perceptive for his own good, Gibbs walked over to the elevator doors and waited.

The doors opened and revealed the ever present smile of Agent Andrews.

“Agent Gibbs.”The man extended his hand, teeth flashing in the lights from the elevator.

“Agent Andrews.” Gibbs slowly responded, raising his own hand and shook Andrews’slimp one, burying his urge to punch the man. 

“You seem to making progress, I barely felt that ...”

Confused, but hiding it well Gibbs nodded, “Checking up on me, us?”

“Oh yes, valuable asset like Dean – we need to make sure everything is running smoothly. And where is ...” Andrews looked around, like he was expecting to see Dean hovering nearby. Gibbs noted the look, the barely veiled curiosity. 

“Evidence lab.”

The smile was almost blinding in its intensity and Andrews either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that Gibbs had not let him off the elevator yet. “Ah, latent empathy readings, very nice, Agent Gibbs.”

Shrugging, Gibbs backed up a little, letting Andrews step out and into the room. “If that’s what it’s called. How about I go ...”

“Oh, I’ll come with you. I’d love to see NCIS at work... also so interesting see the inner workings of other agencies.” Andrews nodded and smiled, obviously, at Tony who was standing watching the conversation.

“This way,” Gibbs nodded and bypassed their desk area, well more Tony, still ignoring the concerned looks he was getting. Andrews actually shut up for most of the trip, looking around the office space with the faked interest of a museum exhibit visitor or perhaps not faked in his case.

Abby was pressed hip to hip with Dean as they reviewed the piles of evidence on her tables, something loud and screeching reverberating through the lab. _Flipping_ the music off, Gibbs watched as Abby’s expression brightened then dimmed at the sight of them, while Dean’s went dead and cold. 

“Hello, Dean. Miss Sciuto, I presume.”

Andrews didn’t come into the room proper, hanging back a little and Abby stammered, “Ah, hey... how did you ...”

“Background checks on anyone who may have regular contact with an Empath are compulsory, Miss Sciuto.” Andrews continued his review of the lab from the door, taking it all in. Gibbs watched Dean instead, noting the careful way he kept his hands in sight, the slight tremor as he put a piece of bagged evidence down.

“Agent Gibbs, is there a small interview or break room nearby that we could use?”

Nodding, Jethro said, “Around the corner, small breakroom.”

“Excellent, Dean?”

Barely hiding her concern, Abby watched as Dean left, edging past Andrews and she called out, “See ya in a bit, Dean!”

Sharing a look with Abby, hers full of demands and orders, Gibbs followed Andrews and Winchester. The room wasn’t far and Andrews ushered Dean in and then paused, “You needn’t come in, Agent Gibbs.”

“I’d rather...”

The smile was incandescent and Gibbs wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his insipid face. “I know, but we don’t need you ... rather I need you out here.” And with that, Andrews closed the door.

“Oh.”

Contemplating going in anyway, Gibbs raised his hand to the doorhandle and then stopped. Their paltry, miniscule connection was quiet, the stream of unease from Dean steady but far from off the scale. Leaving well enough alone, Gibbs returned to the lab and an overly worried Abby. 

“Gibbs, Gibbs... what, why? Is he from T&E?”

Leaning over, Jethro gave her a quick peck on the cheek and sighed, “Yeah, Abs. Some kind of inspection.” 

Slightly diverted by the kiss, Abby straightened her tartan waistcoat and declared firmly, “I don’t like him, Gibbs. He gives me the willies.” 

“Me too, Abs. Me too. Whatcha got?”

Frowning, clearly seeing that he was trying to change subjects, Abby pointed a finger at Jethro said, “About this, we are gonna talk. But first...”

She tottered over to her computer and held up a spray can in an evidence bag. “For all of the DNA filled stuff you got me, there is a surprising...” and here she paused for dramatic effect, “surprising lack of matches in any DNA database.” 

“So you said.”

Waving the spray can, Abby smiled, “Weirdness aside, this... this was the answer.”

“Kay.”

Twisting, Abby clicked on the screen and pulled up a picture. “Dean said ... well on Friday he said, this one, this can, felt different from the others. And by the way, what’s with Dean’s regression to black and white silent movie-mode?”

Leaning forward to look at the picture of a Master Sergeant Matthews, Gibbs ignored the last question and said, “Different how?”

Thinning her eyes and giving him a flinty look, Abby said, “Different like not the same, Gibbs. So this morning I ran more tests and found a partial on the inside of the cap.”

“And the partial was for this guy? Matthews?” Gibbs ignored the glare from Abby. 

“No,” Abby quipped, alt tabbing to a different screen. “The partial was a no go on any database as well. Instead, this morning, Dean suggested and by suggested I mean struggled to communicate at all but managed to anyway, about checking on recent purchases of a shit load of spray cans and that... led me to Master Sergeant Matthews.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really.” Abby continued to glare at Gibbs, who sighed and rather than snap at her, said, “I get it, Abs. I get it, really. Just .... tell me about this.” Abby pursed her lips, pouting but apparently noted the tinge of shame colouring his cheeks and gave in, tapping the can on the counter.

“All of the spray cans were bought at the same home depot store but the order came in online and was delivered to ....”

“Master Sergeant Matthews.”

Giving Gibbs a sad sort of smile, Abby nodded, “Yes. And that’s about the only link we have to the burglary. Everything else.... bumpkiss. Mystery men all round.”

Reaching over, Gibbs gave her another kiss on the cheek and said as he pulled away, “Thanks, Abs.”

Deciding that Andrews had had long enough, Gibbs stalked out of the lab, fully aware that Abby was watching him.

Just about knock, he heard Andrews say, “Agent Gibbs, please come in.”

Gibbs did so, instantly looking over at Dean, scanning him, checking him over.

Folding his arms, Andrews preened, “I see that the protectiveness and possessive urges are in full swing... oh and don’t worry that’s quite normal. I just wanted to tell you, with Dean present, that I’m a little concerned at his heart rate and pulse.”

Eyebrows climbing into his hairline, Gibbs deadpanned, “Oh?”

Nodding like it was fairly obvious, Andrews sighed, “I know we stressed as little stimulation as possible and I realise you have to work but I want you to be extra careful , try to reduce the amount of exertion, stimulation etc. It just makes things easier, later.”

Certain his lack of buy in was evident, Gibbs shrugged, “Sure.”

Andrews patted Dean on the shoulder and said cheerfully, “Good bye, Dean. See you on Friday.”

Dean didn’t even look up from the contemplation of his boots and Andrews nodded and said, ‘I’ll see myself out, Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs nonetheless followed him to the elevator and just as Andrews got in he put out a hand and stopped him in the open doorway. “Yes?”

Trying to find exactly the right words, Gibbs growled, “Nothing about this ... arrangement seems right, Andrews.”

Serious for once, Andrews looked down at Gibbs’s hand and then said, “Of course not, Gibbs. But we’re doing the best we can.” With that, he pushed past and the doors closed.

Feeling his ire rise more than a little, Gibbs hissed to himself, “That’s no excuse.” 

He turned around and saw Dean in the hallway, a lone figure silhouetted in the poor lighting. Nodding towards the lab, Gibbs met him at the entryway, instinctively scanning him for signs of distress or hurt. Dean was subdued, the annoying spark which had been slowly showing itself reburied. 

Glancing at Abby, who was unabashedly staring at them, Gibbs tried to meet Dean’s gaze which he was not making easy with his downturned face and said, “Nice job on the spray cans. You wanna go check this Master Sergeant out?”

Dean flicked his eyes at Abs and then up at Gibbs, shrugging as it made no difference to him. But Gibbs could see the small pleased smile that flitted across his face and the brief flash of pride through the connection. “Come on, then.”

They both gave Abby a quick wave, to which she responded with an enthusiastic dual thumbs up. Watching Dean enter the elevator cab, Gibbs felt more than the usual surge of protectiveness and silently vowed.... to do something.

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_ -In a shocking turn of events today, the murdered women found inside her apartment yesterday has been identified as Melissa Stevens, the high profile Empath. Ms Stevens, who famously assisted with the peace talks in Berlin last year, was positively identified by the T&E Centre this afternoon. Director Harrison, speaking to the press shortly afterwards, expressed his shock and horror and urged anyone with information to please come forward. He denied claims that Ms Stevens had been killed by a radical group and stressed that her death was a tragedy but hardly linked to terrorist activity.  _

- _ ZNN Broadcast, Feb 1991 _


	8. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 7/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

  


Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 7 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 7  
  
The nearsighted Super peered over Gibbs’s NCIS badge and the warrant with painstaking, pedantic care, eventually peering at the gathered agents over his glasses and huffing, “Apartment 6b. Here’s the key, be sure to return it.”

Tony smothered a smile as the old guy slammed his door closed and elbowed McGee whilst bobbing his eyebrows. McGee just rolled his eyes and followed Gibbs to the elevator well. Ziva was already impatiently jabbing the call button, so Dinozzo turned on his heel and said exclaimed, “Come on, old Mr Heckles? From Friends? Totally a clone... really, no one else sees that?”

He had to scramble to make the elevator though, squeezing in between Ziva and McGee, grinning sheepishly at Gibbs. “Sorry, Boss.” Jammed into the corner, Dean was hunched over folded arms, his gaze distant and Tony’s smile slipped a little. It was a little scary how easy it was to forget about him at times. 

The elevator ‘dinged’ pleasantly and disgorged them all on the 6th floor, Tony close on Gibbs’s heels, Winchester dragging up the rear. 

“Sheesh, check this place out,” Tony whistled as he stepped into 6b, eyes flitting around the room like crazy, “Is that a plasma?”

Tim was pulling out his gloves and without looking up said, “Yes, and high def too. Looks a little rich for an E-6 pay grade, hey Boss?”

Gibbs nodded, scanning the room and skimming over the soft luxurious couches, the high thread count carpets and oak finishes. Tony was hovering near the entertainment centre, poking at the DVD titles, muttering either in delight or dismay. Ziva however had made her way to the fireplace and was looking at the display case perched over the mantle. 5 well polished and beautifully maintained swords were propped up inside, their blades gleaming in the afternoon light from the large windows opposite.

“Gibbs, are these not... Marmeluke swords, the swords which Marines wear in dress uniform?” Joining her at the fireplace, Gibbs squinted as he peered at the swords and nodded.

“Yeah, but only Marine Officers and these look ... antique. Good condition but not issued recently.”

“And why would a Staff Sergeant have five?” Ziva mused, tugging at her cap. She snapped a few pictures. “Maybe Ducky or Abby can identify them if they are of ... note?”

“Maybe.” Gibbs was still staring at the swords and Tony called out from the other side of the room, “Maybe he just likes collecting old swords... definitely got a taste for the finer things in life.” He held up a bottle of wine, gingerly showing them the label. “’82. A good year.”

“Either Matthews comes from money or he is supplementing his income some other way,” Ziva said, taking pictures of the antique wooden coffee table. 

“I’m betting on the side income, a little drug trafficking, maybe some smuggling...” Tony chuffed, skimming a begloved finger over the bookshelf and tsking to himself.

“I think you’d win that bet, Tony.” McGee was standing in the doorway to the study, a desk and computer barely visible through the gap. 

“Yeah?” 

Gibbs was first through the door after McGee and stopped short at the array of antique weaponry in the room. There were display cases and boxes full of swords, daggers and other instruments of impalement.

Picking up the case nearest her, Ziva said, “These look like ... Khopesh, I think they are called. Curved daggers popular for hundreds of years in the Middle East. And these are ... Shamshir?”

“Wicked looking swords you mean?” Tony smirked and picked up a loose sword and said, “And this oh, Indiana Janet?”

“Scimitar,” Gibbs supplied, eyeing out a crate full of rusty blades, hiltless and broken. 

“Ah, a scimitar! Makes you just want to hack and slash ...” Tony stopped mid-motion at Gibbs’s baleful glare and quickly put the sword down. “Sorry, Boss. Couldn’t resist.”

McGee was in the corner nearest the door and he held up another case and asked, “And this Ziva, any idea?”

She shook her head and was about to speak when Dean said softly but clearly enough for all to hear, “Akinakes. Probably Persian.” 

Dinozzo winced a little at the harsh calibre of his voice, feeling his own throat ache in response. He opened his mouth to comment but Gibbs beat him to it.

“Antiques from the Middle East, no doubt valueable, in a Marine Sergeant’s apartment? McGee find out when Matthews last reported for duty and if he has ever been to Iraq.”

“On it, Boss.”

Dinozzo was studying a crate and motioned for Ziva to join him and pointed at the box, “This was cleared through the Norfolk Port Authority.”

“How do you know that?” Ziva peered at the crate, trying to see if the label reflected that.

“Cos I found this.” And Tony handed over a thick clipboard with customs declarations and documents. 

“Shouldn’t this be at the Customs Office?”

“Yep.”

“Blank documentation, forgeries... a little obvious to just leave this lying around.”

Tony shrugged, “Guess he didn’t figure on the cops popping by for a quick raid. But this,” and he looked at the crate and the appropriate page on the clipboard, “is not ‘surplus uniform’.”

Ziva snorted, “Nonetheless, seems overly careless, yes?” 

Tony shrugged impishly, stood up and yelled, “Hey, Boss, come check this out.”

Gibbs however was next to Winchester. Dean had drifted unseen into the as yet unexplored corner of the large room and Gibbs had _felt_ a spike of interest from him. 

Dean was studying a display case that had a moulded foam casing with outlines for four daggers. There were two daggers already in place, their blades dull and spotted with rust but the hilts smooth and worn and well polished. 

“And?” Gibbs mumbled, watching Dean’s face. Their connection was humming with the buzz of unease and uncertainty but that had been the case since Andrews had left. “Something special about these?”

Titling his head and licking his bottom lip, Dean sighed, “Sorta... buzz.”

“That’s real helpful, Dean.”

Dean just shrugged and Gibbs wondered if his heightened state was picking up latent empathy readings from the daggers. Curious, he reached to lift one of the daggers out and Dean’s hand snaked out and caught his wrist, steel fingers stopping his motion. The pleasant surge of physical contact was not lost on Gibbs but he ignored it and hissed, “What?”

“Don’t touch. Not ...” Suddenly snatching up a crate, Dean picked up the display case with long fingers, barely touching it and tossed into the crate. “Really, don’t ...”

Bemused but not overly concerned, Gibbs threw a pair of gloves at Dean, “What did I say about gloves?”

“Boss?”

“Yeah, Dinozzo, I heard. Norfolk. Guess that’s our next stop.”

Dinozzo and Ziva groaned in unison while McGee chirped in, “Norfolk? Awesome.”

Dean, hands now gloved, had finished crating up the daggers and shot an ‘and?’ look at Gibbs who backed off and shouted, “Anything, McGee?”

“Oh yeah, ah, Sergeant Matthews hasn’t reported for duty since Thursday. He’s with 2nd Marine Logistics Group and they returned from a deployment in Afghanistan earlier this month ...”

Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at no one in particular and said, “Aren’t they at Camp Lejuene with the II MEF?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Ha, Rule no 39 is in play.” Dinozzo looked inordinately happy but McGee was already on the phone with 2nd Marine Logistics Group Command and Ziva was dialing the Port Authority at Norfolk. Still smiling, Tony fumbled for his phone and said loudly, “And I am ....” 

He looked up at Gibbs, momentarily uncertain as to who he was calling and Gibbs raised an eyebrow. “Ah, Captain Cadman? Gonna want to speak to her again?”

At Gibbs’s nod, Tony dialed, absently handling the scimitar and poking the crates near him. His team busy, Gibbs reached over and pulled Dean towards him, ignoring the indignant scowl. Dean had the crate with the two daggers under his arm and Gibbs said, “Are we bagging that?” _Feeling_ the connection thrum in response to the physical contact, Jethro watched Dean stare at his hand and then nod slowly and try to pull his arm free at the same time. “We’re going to have a conversation as soon as you’re able, got it?”

The eyeroll was familiar and a welcome sight.   
  


McGee snapped his phone shut first, chirping, “Camp Lejuene Command has a scarily sparse jacket on Matthews, Boss. They’re sending it over. Apparently he’s only been with them for one tour, the last one.”

On his heels, Ziva sighed, “Norfolk PA still has a number of crates marked for Matthew’s collection. Said we can come by tomorrow.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Tony, who was slowly drilling a hole in a box with the point of the scimitar, nodding and ‘ah ha’ing into phone. Rolling his eyes dramatically, Tony said loudly and overly clearly, “Yes, Major Nel, I got it, I know.... yes, completely .... definitely, I’ll.... Thank you, Major Nel!”

Noting that he was the centre of attention, Dinozzo smiled, and drawled, “Well, apparently Captain Cadman was recalled... or reassigned. The good Major didn’t know which and doesn’t have the clearance to find out for sure and guessing by her lack of good humour that kinda pissed her off. In the nutshell, Boss, Cadman is not at Quantico.”

Without needing Gibbs’s prompting, McGee was already pulling up Cadman’s jacket on his PDA. “Ahh.... yeah. Classified and ...” he scrolled some more, looked serious and said, “Classified and ... classified, Boss. Maybe Director Vance...”

“You let me handle Vance. Lets bag everything ... and I mean everything. I want to know where Staff Sergeant Matthews is.”

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Usually getting a call that some random civilian had found a dead Marine meant two things. One, Gibbs was going to be pissed or as Tony liked to think only to himself and never, ever aloud, pissy until they caught the perp if it was murder. Two, a lot of late night work because of Gibbs’s mood mentioned in one.

However, for the first time in recent memory and Tony counted ‘recent’ as anything post-Baltimore PD, the dead marine call actually broke their case. The dead body was not a John Doe but was missing, presumed fleeing the country after the panty raid on crack, Staff Sergeant Matthews. 

Gibbs picked up the call, actually had an expression of surprise before summoning the team and heading off, the trip to Norfolk put on hold. And Tony noted, with an actual note in his sketch pad, that the rare expression of surprise was repeated again at the crime scene. But in all honesty, even Ducky was momentarily rendered speechless. Granted, in Ducky’s case the inability to speak lasted but a heart beat but it was enough that even Palmer noticed.

Alas, for McGee, his vomit-free streak was broken and he was noisily sick a good few feet from the crime scene. Even Ziva was hanging back, her arm pressed across her face.

What was left of Staff Sergeant Matthews was messy... and very very gross. And disturbing. 

“Wow, very ... Tarantino horror fest?” Tony was also keeping his distance, happy to let Duck get this one ... all of this one.

Gibbs was at the edge of the police tape, the Metro PD CSIs and Coroner long gone but their guestimate of what would be the edge of the crime scene pretty accurate. 

“Duck?”

“Give me minute, Jethro ...”

Stepping around Winchester, who was staring at the corpse, Tony multitasked by snapping away with the camera and teasing McGee. “Hey, Probie, you done ruining those fancy shoes yet?”

“Go to hell, Tony.” McGee sounded queasy and Ziva was hovering near him but repelled by the smell of fresh sick. 

“McGee. David. Start taking statements, especially whoever found him.”

“On it, Gibbs.” Ziva hauled McGee away, not looking too upset at the dismissal.

They were in an alley behind one of those old run down factories turned warehouse turned abandoned building turned squat turned perfect place for clandestine meetings of the illegal kind. And the murdering kind. 

Matthews, what was left of him, was spread-eagled on the ground, face down, naked from the knees up and flayed open from rectum to shoulders. His spine glistened white amidst the blood and gore, the only thing intact, ribs, organs and skin sprayed around the alley. 

Ducky was perched, gingerly, near Matthew’s head. The Sergeant’s uniform shirt and coat were in a neat pile next to a dumpster, his military ID and dog tags on display. “Jethro, did Metro PD find his ID and uniform exactly like that?” Ducky asked, poking at Matthew’s face, gently lifting it with one hand.

“Apparently. Got close enough to read the name, called off the locals and called us. Why?”

Dr Mallard pushed his glasses further up onto his nose and said, “Well, several rather contradictory reasons why, Jethro. First, this.”

He turned Matthews’s face towards them and Tony leaned over the tape as far as he could, slightly nudging Winchester. “Both lips have been pierced with a single ring, both eyes put out, as it were.” Ducky pulled at the ring, stretching the lips slightly, wincing in concert with Tony. “Performed pari-mortem, judging by the blood loss. The eyes were pierced by something sharp, pointed I would say. All of this is very reminiscent of the way the Assyrians treated their captives or prisoners of war. Usually those of noble birth or high station – a humiliation, silenced like a dumb animal and their last sight that of their conqueror towering over them.”

“Ewww... really, Ducky?” Tony grimaced, rubbing a hand over his mouth, pursing his lips. 

Gibbs however growled, “Cause of death?” 

Dean was watching Ducky closely, apparently unperturbed by the smell and gore. 

“Well, I hesitate to make an assumption here, Jethro, but I would be fairly confident on exsanguination. The majority of this ...” and Ducky waved in the general direction of the organs and bone around the body, “occurred post-mortem. The poor boy more than likely bled out fairly quickly, the trauma would have been ... extensive.”

Paling and pausing his in picfest of the scene, Tony hissed, “Was he ... you know?”

“Raped? I doubt it, Tony. But herein lies the first of the contradictions. There is no sign of struggle or restraint... no bruises or contusions.” Ducky fingered the hair, parting it in places to show the lack of wounds. “If not for the blood loss, I would even postulate that the flailing occurred post-mortem as it is very doubtful someone would just lie still and allow someone else to open them stem to stern.” Turning Matthews’s wrists over, Ducky pointed at the smooth, unblemished skin, spotted only with blood and dirt.

“Flailing?” Tony stammered.

“And it’s not like there is clothing covering any other signs of restraint...” Gibbs mused.

“Or the restraints.”Dean muttered.

Everyone looked at Dean, who failed to notice or pretended not to. Ducky nodded, “Some bruising may appear in time but I judge he’s been dead for about 8 to 12 hours.”

“So, last night, while we were poking around his apartment. Flailing, Ducky? Flailing?”

“Yes, Tony. Flailed. Skinned alive. Another favourite of the Assyrians, I recall. But hardly exclusive to them. The excessive destruction of his rib cage and organs however... not typically Assyrian at all. More indicative of psychotic frustrated rage.”

“So we have a psychopath who likes skinning people?” Dinozzo exclaimed, staring at Gibbs in horror. 

Gibbs however was looking at the neatly folded uniform and dog tags. Well used to the way his friend’s mind worked, Dr Mallard interjected and said, “Psychopath perhaps, organized, detailed and structured. Someone like this does not crawl out of the woodwork and go straight from fantasies to this. There would have been similar killings, similar behaviour, a build up.”

“You mentioned two contradictions, Duck.”

“Ah, yes, Jethro, I thought it would be obvious.” Ducky stood, one hand at the small of his back, the other dusting off his coveralls. Tony shot a look at Winchester, who was now crouched down studying the bloodied ground, before saying, “Huh?”

Smiling sadly, Dr Mallard said, “That little pile of dress shirt and ID is very close to the body, Tony. And yet is remarkably free of apparent spatter.”

“So, the killer could have stashed it somewhere else and brought it back to complete the scene, right?”

Dean, still hunched over said softly, “There’s a void under ‘em. Clothes were there the whole time.” Stepping under the police tap, Tony gingerly lifted the pile and true enough, the tar and concrete beneath them was blood and skin free.

“That’s weird more than a contradiction, Duck.”

“Peculiar indeed, but not my department. Mr Palmer!” Motioning for his assistant to bring the gurney over, Ducky said quietly to Gibbs, “I’ll know more when I’ve completed a full autopsy.”

Palmer arrived and Tony tugged Dean out of the way, Winchester shaking him off but stepping aside anyway. Gibbs stayed by the body, watching as Ducky and Palmer began the difficult task of bagging it. 

“Oh, this one is going to be a doozy and what’s the bet the FBI try to take this one away from us.” Tony was scrolling through the pictures on the digital camera, scowling and gagging at some of the stills. He was casually standing next to Dean, unaware of that he was leaning over, shoulder on shoulder until Dean moved away and he stumbled a little. “What?”

“It’s not a serial killer.”

“Huh?” Tony looked up in distraction, still trying to edge closer to Winchester. This time, however, Dean rolled into the motion and casually _shocked_ Tony. “Damn it! What? I was...”

But Dean was nodding towards Ziva and McGee, who were interviewing a tall man, nice suit but more academic looking than business man. The guy was jittery, nervous and Ziva was clearly asking some probing questions judging by his growing unease. 

“He did it. Better grab him before he bolts.”

Tony did a classic double take, incredulous and mocking and half shouted, half hissed, “What you getting ‘killer’ vibes now?”

But their concerted attention, Ziva’s questions and Gibbs’s cold regard as he picked up on the rising emotion was all too much for the guy and he shoved McGee, sending him sprawling into Ziva and ran. Tony and Gibbs took off, right on his heels but Ziva was faster, recovering from the fall and tackled him before he’d gone a few feet. The few cops still on scene had responded to the breakaway but then backed off as Ziva wrestled him into a pair of cuffs.

“What the hell?” McGee was clambering to his feet and generously Tony helped him. Gibbs helped Ziva haul their runner up and the guy swayed unsteadily, eyes unfocused.

“’Ole emo-meter here was getting vibes, McGeek.”

Looking at her collar, Ziva nodded, “As was I, he seemed very ... out of it. His name is Peter Sorenson, an art dealer.”

Gibbs patted him down and felt a suspicious lump, lifted the suit jacket and pulled out an antique dagger. “Well, this looks familiar.”

It was a match to the daggers Dean had been interested in, the ones currently in a lead box in Abby’s lab. It had been quite a thing watching Dean persuade Abby that that was the best, no only way, to store them. Mostly it had involved a lot of gesturing from Dean and run on sentences from Abby.

A rush of _fear_ raced through them all as Gibbs pulled it free and Dean snarled, “Drop it, now.” Startled, McGee twisted aimlessly around, Tony’s brow furrowed at the tone and wonders of wonders, Gibbs did just that. He shook his hand like the thing had burned ... or shocked him. “Damn.”

The dagger clattered as it fell, hilt and blade wobbling and then finally stilling, rusty, dirty and strangely ominous. “Seriously, don’t touch it.”

Sorenson was swaying for real this time, his eyes rolling back in his head and Ziva shouted, “A little help.” Tony leapt to her assistance, dragging the guy up but to no avail. Sorenson collapsed between them, skin suddenly pale and clammy, head hanging loose and unconscious.

Gibbs tore off his coat, wrapped it around his hand and quickly picked up the dagger and placed it in an evidence bag and then wrapped the coat around that. Looking up at Dean, who shrugged, Gibbs then tossed it wholesale into his kit bag. 

“I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone... one directed by Wes Craven. What in the hell is going on, Boss?”

Ducky and Palmer were frozen near the body, watching them, the remains of Staff Sergeant Matthews still scattered more in the alley than actually in the body bag. 

“Not a frigging clue, Dinozzo, but I aim to find out.”

 

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Sure enough the FBI were waiting for them when they got back to the office. Only they weren’t the usual breed of Federal Agents and flipped open badges that said NID and waved a warrant and jurisdiction order under Gibbs’s nose rather than answer any questions.

They already had the two daggers from Abby’s lab and Director Vance in tow, ready to order Gibbs to hand over Sorenson. Gibbs closed the gap between him and their lead agent, happily invading personal space and growled, “Dead marine. My case.”

“This is a matter of national security, Agent Gibbs, not something even you have clearance for.”

“And I assume that that includes the whereabouts of Captain Cadman?”

“You would assume correctly.”

The guy, Agent Dowling, didn’t radiate the usual smug superiority of a brown-noser Fed but seemed more tired than anything, hiding behind formality and paperwork. He also didn’t appear too intrigued by the case – at least not as a career maker. There was none of the excited, hyped up glee over snatching a case away from another agency. 

Gibbs could feel his cellphone vibrating in his pocket, no doubt either McGee or Dinozzo bemoaning that some Acronym Flunkie was trying to take Sorenson from Bethesda and their custody. Vance nodded and Gibbs scowled, tossing his evidence bags at the NIDs. He flipped open his phone and snarled, “Let them take him,” and hung up.

Dowling nodded, motioned for his flunkies to follow him and they left, crammed into the elevator. Vance pre-empted the verbal storm with, “Went right over my head, if you can believe that’s possible. Airforce big guns, with the SecNav’s backing. Not too sure who to appeal to after that.” Vance looked sincere, albeit hardly irate, more resigned than anything. “Deal with it, Gibbs. Its someone else’s problem now.”

Gibbs threw his coat at his desk with far more force than usual and secured his weapon with a slam of the desk drawer. Ziva slipped behind her desk, while Dean perched on Dinozzo’s and they watched as Gibbs stalked over, jabbing a sharp finger at Dean. 

“Spill it. I want to know everything you felt.”

“Gibbs, would it not be better....” Ziva started, hands waving in emphasis. 

Dean raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat loudly and Gibbs growled, dragged out his phone and dialled Dinozzo. “Dinozzo. Yeah, I know. Just come back. And pick up some coffee... my usual.” 

By the time Dinozzo and McGee got back with the coffee, Abby and Ducky had joined in the misery over a lost case session and the mood picked up noticeably when it became coffee and pastries for everyone. Dean was soon spooning with his cardboard cup and around a mouthful of something sticky and sweet, Tony mumbled, “You doing this?” 

The mood was definitely lighter and Dean shrugged, his neck disappearing into his shoulders and his expression firmly on ‘I’m just sipping coffee here.’ If anyone noticed and Gibbs surely did, no one else said anything. Abby had elected to forgo coffee for Caf Pow but had claimed a pink doughnut and as she contemplated taking a bite, she sighed, “I hate unanswered questions. It sucks to the nth degree... and I was so looking forward to this one .... had a such a creepy, weirdy vibe to it.”

Dean was still perched on Tony’s desk, despite the dual glares from the desk’s owner and his Boss, but Gibbs _sent_ a firm demand for him to start spilling the empathic beans. Ducky however beat him, with not much effort, to the verbal punch.

“Quite so, young Abby. The mere fact that another as yet unheard of Federal Agency swooped in with such haste only makes one even more curious. Mr Palmer is quite convinced that they are some sort of men in black.”

“Men in Black, Ducky. You forgot the capitals,” Tony quipped, air quoting around his bearclaw, or rather his second bearclaw.

“Oh, I don’t know about MIBs, Tony. Some of the evidence, especially those daggers had some weird EMF but nothing major, or what couldn’t be explained by all the electronics in the lab,” Abby interjected, perched next to McGee on his desk.

“You tested them for EMF?” Tim barely turned his head to look at Abby, but she elbowed him somewhat gently. “Sure. Standard Scuito Procedure on weird potentially paradigm shifting suspicion proving cases.”

“Huh.” McGee left no further opening for potential digression into just what those suspicions were. Tony however failed to note the careful side step and said, “Suspicion? What are you suspecting, oh open minded one?”

Abby bounced to her feet, half eaten doughnut left on Mcgee’s lap and counted off on her fingers, “1. Scarily high classified personnel and locations – the Cadman mystery. 2. Weirdo ancient daggers that freak Dean out. 3. MIB types who confiscate it all and Vance lets them. All adds up to ... Aliens!”

McGee and Tony mimed ‘Aliens’ along with her, which earned Tim a much sharper elbow in the side but none the less, the focus of attention swung to the apparently ‘freaked out’ Empath. Dean, looking less freaked out and more bemused, looked up with a ‘what?’ expression as if he had not been paying attention.

“You were awfully concerned about the daggers yesterday and about not touching them,” Ziva said over her cup of coffee, watching him carefully. Gibbs reaffirmed his _demand_ silently and Dean gave a minute roll of the eyes and said, “They felt funky ... hinky.”

Tony did however roll his eyes at the word ‘hinky’ and drawled, “Gonna need more than that, Doug.” 

“Yeah, how did you know Sorenson was the murderer?”

“Who says he was?” Dean muttered.

“You did!” Tony exclaimed, waving his arms and bear claw in the air. Ziva exclaimed in disgust at the shower of crumbs and Tony abruptly stopped, sheepishly. 

“I said he did it, not that he was the killer.”

There was a heartbeat of stunned silence before Tony deadpanned, “Come again?”

Shooting a look at Gibbs, who stared blankly back, Dean said, “The daggers felt... hot, with emotional residue I guess, like they were ... eager, violent?” 

There was a round a careful, we don’t really understand nods.

“Sorenson felt the same way... only he was also damn confused and kinda out of it, like he was ... not really there.”

Another round of nods, still bemused and Tony said, “And what? What does that mean?”

Scratching his head with his non-coffee holding hand, Dean hmmmed before saying, “It was like there were two sets of emotions coming from him. His and ... something else, something overlaying his... darker, more...”

“Violent,” Gibbs provided and Dean nodded.

Abby pointed at Dean and said excitedly, “You mean possessed, don’t you? Like emotional transference or something. It’s why you wouldn’t let me handle the daggers.”

Dean nodded even as Ducky mused aloud, “Is that even possible? For the emotion of an object to influence someone?” He looked over a Gibbs as he said this but Jethro frowned in response. 

Everyone else looked at Dean though, who shrugged, “Not a clue. First time I’ve come across it.”

“And what, are these NID like T&E affiliates or something?” McGee asked, already wondering to himself if a special late night hack would be on the cards. 

“Also, not a clue. But I haven’t heard of them before.” 

Tony looked up dramatically and said half seriously, “I keep on expecting to hear some voice over guy cue in the scary music and leave us with a cliffhanger of questions.” Ziva, who was closest, attempted a head slap but Dinozzo dodged it and smirked at her.

Gibbs sighed, feeling old and tired and very much aware that Dean was picking up on his deflating anger. Shoving that all aside, he stood and said, “Weirdness aside, we’re going to Norfolk tomorrow. There is something going on there and that is still our jurisdiction.”

There was a collective groan and chorus of whines from Dinozzo and David, which everyone else ignored. 

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‘ _Due to the growing fears and concerns for the safety of Telekinetics and Empaths, more the Empaths than anything, the T &E Centres pushed for local state legislatures to pass laws protecting the privacy of all registered T&E employees. There was some concern that this would defeat the purpose of the original registration legislation which was supposed to allay the populace’s fears around Telekinetic and Empathic abilities.  
Most T&E Centres got the protection they needed by reassuring State Authorities that they would assist in the prosecution and subsequent rehabilitation of all Telekinetics and Empaths who failed to register. The standard sentence for failure to register was a maximum of 5 years but the majority of States who agreed to protect the privacy of T&E Employees also amended the sentence to 7 years under T&E supervision and community service. _

_ There was a brief outcry from a small group of Anti-T&E activists who maintained that these amendments essentially made it legal for T&E to profit from enforced labour of the convicted. The then Director of T&E responded with the rather humorous comparison of the old chain gangs but then spoke earnestly of the importance of stressing the seriousness with which non-registration was viewed. T&E’s main purpose was and always would be, the protection of the general populace, and Telekintics and Empaths alike. _

_ Extract from ’20 years on’ by Max Kimball, 1995  _

 

  



	9. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 8/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 8/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 8

 

It was that still quiet hour after midnight when the air deepened, sounds became more noticeable and the dawn seemed most distant. The house was quiet, as expected, Gibbs having long gone to bed, the frustrations of the day tiring him out rather than sending his adrenalin soaring and an accompanying late night session in the basement. 

Dinner had been a stilted event, Gibbs less inclined to talk than usual, Dean happily taking advantage of the distracted mood to eat more than his share of the Indian take out. If Gibbs had noticed his Empath’s subtle concern, the covet glances checking his pupils, pulse and skin colour, he didn’t mention it. His ‘good night’ was laced with exhaustion and he most certainly did not hear Dean go back into the kitchen after his door closed.

A chill wind from no discernible open window or door fluttered the curtains in the kitchen as if an unseen hand parted them. The temperature in the hall leading to the bedrooms dropped and the sharp smell of ozone filled the back of Dean’s throat.

He was waiting outside Gibbs’s door, a dark shadow in the gloom, nonchalant in posture but poised for action. He straightened as the temperature dropped further and said firmly, “Back the hell up, bub. There’s no one here for you.”

Dean withdrew a poker from Gibbs’s fireplace from behind him, tossing it slowly over fingers and thumb, fingers and thumb, the cool metal swishing menacingly through the air. 

If there was a slight hesitation in the chilly atmosphere it was very slight and soon Dean could _feel_ the raw violence and anger coalesce into a meaningful presence. Nothing appeared though, no ghostly visage flickering and starting like a bad connection. Just pure, unadulterated malice.

“Not kidding, dude. Back off.”

Dean _sent_ an empathic command in its general direction, underscoring his words with the promise of pain. This time there was no hesitation and the oppressive presence surged forward and Dean swung the poker. The newly consecrated iron burned but it was the salt at the threshold of Gibb’s door that really hurt. It had no voice but Dean could _feel_ its shock and pain and he pushed forward, swinging the poker with one hand, the other tossing a handful of salt right at the heart of it.

Withdrawing momentarily, the presence seethed, its rage and violence rising but Dean gave it no room or time to regroup, backing it right up to the front door, scattering salt in every direction, leaving no room to escape but through the door.

Cornered, reluctant to leave but unable to go forward, the presence surged towards Dean this time, trying to slip past or into him. “No way, Freak.” The empathic field around Dean crackled with energy and as the presence charged at him, through him, he _lashed_ out, electric charge dancing over his fingers and the length of the poker, shoving the malice and violence and evil back towards the door.

“Get out.”

It tried one last time, desperation fuelling its weakened efforts and this time Dean’s _push_ sent it flying through the door and the symbol painted in holy water on the dark wood. Instantly the mood and atmosphere in the room lifted, visibly lightening and opening. It wasn’t defeated, not by far, but it had lost its claim on Gibbs, however tenuous it had been.

Dean turned and listened carefully, _checking_ if Gibbs was still asleep. He seemed more at ease, less troubled, his dreams turning from blood filled horror to less gruesome ones. Satisfied, Dean glanced around and sighed, dramatically. There was a crap load of salt to clean up. 

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“I hate Norfolk. It’s cold, it’s miserable, it’s too loud, it’s...”

“Sheesh, Tony, get trapped in one container and suddenly you hate Norfolk.” The three NCIS Agents were huddled near the van, which was parked at the entrance to the main Port Authority building. The maze of crates and shipping containers was a distant mosaic of colour with the air filled with cry of seagulls and the brisk smell of the ocean.

“Oh, oh, don’t forget the getting shot at by Ziva, near death by suffocation and then by smuggler and nearly freezing my ass off. I’m allowed to hate Norfolk!” Tony grumbled, glaring at an overly bright-eyed McGee

“I agree.” Ziva had her hands thrust into her jacket and was scanning the area.

“Well I have a lot of good memories about this place, still have a few friends who ...”

“We are not interested, McGee – really we aren’t. Where in the hell is Gibbs? He should have beat us here...”

“There. With Winchester.”

Gibbs was waving from the main door to the Port Authority, Dean in a NCIS jacket standing next to him.  
  
“Come on, let’s get this over with.” Tony lead the way but McGee outpaced him and practically skipped up the stairs to Dean and Gibbs. 

“Hey, Boss. Dean.”

They all got the familiar Gibbs nod and Dean winked at Ziva. He looked a hell of a lot better today and Tony deliberately jostled him as they all hustled through the door after Gibbs. The close brush was a little electric, but hardly the same as two days ago. Frowning, Tony shot Gibbs a concerned look. Yesterday might have been overrun by the excitement and subsequent horror of Matthews’s murder but Gibbs was definitely playing with fire again if he wasn’t breaking the connection. 

Since he’d managed to position himself near Dean anyway, Tony slowed and hissed at him, “What the hell are you guys playing at? You’re gonna get him into trouble ...”

Dean cut Tony off with his own hissed reply, “It’s his own damn choice and I’m sure as hell not gonna complain. So back off!” Whatever else Tony might have said, he had to bite his tongue as they arrived at the main office and Gibbs ran a knowing eye over them. Smiling wanly at his boss, Tony sighed and dropped it.

Port Security Chief Matthew Lake was waiting for them and shook everyone’s hand warmly, even Dean’s. “Special Agent Gibbs, good to see you again. I understand there are some packages you guys are interested in.”

“Sure are, Chief,” Tony quipped. Gibbs said however, “We’re actually more interested in whoever processed the paperwork for these.” He handed over the clipboard of customs clearance documents, still wrapped in an evidence bag. 

Lake scanned the documents through the plastic and said, “I don’t recognise the signature but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s a pretty large department down there. Come on, I’ll take you down.”

Customs occupied several floors of the Port Authority Office but Lake took the team down to the ground floor, where the Customs Manager’s office was. Ms Samuels greeted them warmly as well, her smile bright but her reassurance of her entire team’s co-operation less believable. 

McGee however was soon working his way through the offline Customs computer system, searching for the crate numbers and tracking IDs from the items in Matthews’s apartment. Gibbs hovered, watching him and Tim, well used to that, worked on regardless. Tony and Ziva peeled off to start interviewing Customs Agents, their official yet welcoming ‘you can tell me anything’ faces in place. Dean found an empty desk, an empty but clean cup and poured himself a cup of coffee. 

It didn’t take McGee too long to find the original containers the crates and boxes had arrived in but the security clearance and authorisation trail as to who had actually cleared them for collection and where the remaining items were was proving a little more troublesome.

Ms Samuels and Chief Lake had joined the hovering Gibbs, all three of them peering over McGee watching as he hacked the system. “I didn’t know it was possible to even do that, Agent McGee.” Ms Samuels did not sound too happy about her revelation either. 

Undeterred, McGee pressed on and said, “Your internal system is not really designed to withstand a serious security breach, ma’am. Your firewalls are top notch, but if once someone has access to a terminal, well, it’s wide open and whoever this is, they have covered their tracks well. They’ve attached each item, not even a crate, just an item, which is reflected as a code to random orders and waybills. The item gets cleared and then since all the items are cleared, they’ve jipped the system to allow the whole crate, which is not cleared on its own ID, to be collected on the basis that the items are cleared.”

“Can you identify who it is, Agent McGee?” Chief Lake asked, leaning perilously close to being nose to cap with McGee.

“Well, here’s the next issue. As the items are placed on cleared containers, the authorisation code varies, dependent on who cleared the ‘carrier’ container. I am trying to see who originally placed the item there and that ... is proving difficult.”

“But not impossible.”

“No, no, Boss. Give me enough time and I’ll...”

Tony was interviewing a rather buxom brunette across the room, while Ziva was two desks over talking to a skinny kid who looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over. Dean however was watching an older, blonde going grey woman who was very carefully ‘not’ watching the proceedings. 

As McGee got more animated, she quietly typed on her keyboard, for intents and purposes a dedicated Customs Agent. Tony laughed loudly and both Gibbs and Dean looked over at him and when Dean looked back, the lady was gone. He caught a glimpse of the back of her head as she walked past a closing door. 

He managed to catch Ziva’s eye, her interview with Skinny almost over and she ambled over. “What?”

“Older lady, blonde, pink sweater. You should probably follow her. Just left out that door.” Ziva stared at Dean for a split second and then nodded. She was out of the door quickly, Gibbs’s eyes narrowing as he caught the movement. Dean _sent_ a reassuring tap and leant back in the chair.

“Ha!” McGee cried, triumph written across his face. “Gotcha!”

Lake and Samuels pressed closer, squashing McGee against the desk and he wheezed slightly, “The outstanding crates for Matthews are not here, they’ve been collected already. And your mystery ‘admin rights abuser’ is a ... Veronica Jorgenson.”

Ms Samuels looked up and said, “She’s right over ...” 

She was looking at the empty desk of the pink sweater lady and she exclaimed, “She was just here...”

“Winchester!”

“Ziva’s on her tail. Figured you’d want to find out where she was going.” Gibbs hmmmed noncommittally and pulled out his phone to glare at it. 

Tony joined them, flipping closed his notepad. “So, we got a runner?”

“Yep.”

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Ziva stuck her head around the corner and quickly checked on her target. Ms Pink Sweater was pacing near the entrance to the dockyard, too far away to see her expression but she radiated nerves. 

After about 15 minutes, a dockyard worker dressed in blue coveralls and a hardhat met her at the gate. Security waved them both through and they disappeared into the maze of shipping containers. Cursing softly, Ziva dialled Gibbs and her call was picked up immediately.

_ “Ziva.” _

“Gibbs. Winchester apparently picked...”

_ “Yeah, yeah, I know. Where is she – Jorgenson?” _

Gibbs sounded more tense than usual and Ziva echoed the feeling. “Miss Jorgenson then has just entered the dockyard with a man who appears to work there.”

“ _They still in sight?”_

Frowning, Ziva peered around the corner again and said, “Not really, but if I hurry, I can probably find them. “

“ _Damnit. Fine. Follow them.”_

“Gibbs, the last time Tony and I ... you recall the issue we had with staying in touch ...” Ziva trailed off, she could tell Gibbs was not paying attention, as there was a muffled conversation going on near him. She heard Gibbs growl, _“You sure, 100%?”_

Whatever the response, Gibbs was back and he said, “ _Winchester says he can find you. We’ll be right behind you.”_

It wasn’t as reassuring as Gibbs made it sound. Tony might tease Dean about his ‘sniffing’ out abilities but this was her backup. In the end, it was Gibbs’s belief she trusted so Ziva nodded and said, “Fine. I’m going in – you better find me, Gibbs.”

Chief Lake had obviously called down as Security waved her through and Ziva hurried down the corridor of containers she had last seen the pink sweater duck down. Checking each intersection, Ziva strained her senses to spot any sign that the pair had deviated from the path. At one intersection she heard voices to the left and ran that way, her gun out and held at the ready. The sound of voices grew and suddenly she had to duck back out of sight as Ms Jorgenson and Dockyard Worker came into view.

She waited to hear if they had spotted her before peering around the corner to see for herself. They had not noticed and were still in deep conversation, the lady gesturing animatedly but her voice was too low to really hear what she was talking about. The man, heavy set and grizzled was just nodding, her gaze intent on her and her hands.

He checked his watch and Ms Jorgenson trailed off, looking around nervously. Her companion’s apparent lack of concern made her voice rise in anger and she said clearly, “Well, what should I do? They’ve probably noticed that I’ve gone.”

The man pursed his lips and said, “You don’t have to do anything at all.” With that, he smoothly drew out a gun fitted with a silencer and shot her point blank in the chest. She crumpled to the floor, without a sound, her pink sweater rapidly turning red. He shot her twice more, one more to the heart and one to the head. 

Stunned, Ziva briefly considered stepping out and arresting him on the spot, but she was very much alone and Gibbs wanted, needed to know what was going on – who this man was and there was a good chance that any altercation would leave him dead.

He scanned the area as he tucked the gun back into his coveralls and Ziva quickly ducked behind the container, hoping he had not seen her. Several agonising seconds passed and then Ziva heard the sound of a container being opened and she peeked again to see him haul Ms Jorgenson into an empty container. He slammed the door shut and locked it. 

Ziva memorised the container number and details, waited about 30 seconds and then followed him. He wasn’t in too much of a hurry but his long legs ate up the ground quickly and she had to trot to keep up, from a distance. 

His course through the maze of containers zig zagged with no apparent destination in mind and Ziva knew she would struggle to find her way back, which was probably the idea. Hoping that he had not spotted her, figuring he would have just shot at her if he had, Ziva continued to dog his trail.

After a good 15 minute walk, he reached a warehouse at the edge of the Docks and headed straight towards its wide open doors. It looked new and busy and Ziva wondered if he was calmly going back to work after murdering someone. Once he was inside, she dashed across the wide open space between warehouse and container and plastered herself on the wall and inched towards the open doors. 

All the peeking and craning to see around corners was giving her a crick in the neck and as she edged close enough to take a look again, a large meaty hand reached around and pulled her through the door.

Instantly Ziva responded, twisting out and around, pulling herself free and raising her weapon. Unerringly she pointed her gun at her target, the man in the blue coveralls but he was not alone. Two equally large men had joined him and one whistled, “Feisty little thing, isn’t she?”

Ziva snapped, “Federal Agent. Drop you weapon.”

The guy laughed, his arms spread wide, hands empty. “What weapon, little lady? I was just wondering who was snooping around. Didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

“The one in your coveralls – with the silencer. Now!” His jovial expression fell and he said harshly, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His friends also stiffened, their expressions hardening. One of them nearly gave her enough time as his eyes flicked to something, no someone behind her and she whipped around to draw a line on a fourth person. The guy had a Colt pointed right at her and Ziva dodged to the right, even as she said, “Drop it. Federal Agent.”

Movement from behind and Ziva gave up her line of sight on the armed man and kicked out at the attack from behind, dropping one of the men to the floor but then the others were on her. Well trained in close quarter combat and against heavier, stronger opponents, Ziva whirled and elbowed her way out of immediate danger, trying to create enough room to bring her gun to bear again. 

There was a loud crack of a gun being fired but rather than stop, Ziva dashed further into the warehouse, ducking behind a few crates, breathing hard. The pained grunts and groans behind meant her blows had landed soundly, but had hardly incapacitated them. They silently scattered to find her, no longer interested in talking and Ziva ran further into the warehouse, hoping to find an exit or something to give her the advantage – like backup. 

There was a crash as one of the men bulldozed his way past a few crates to reach her and managed to snag her jacket, but she twisted and turned, slamming a fist into his solar plexus, dropping him. His cough of pain brought the others and she turned, firing at one then the next. Her first shot was good, but the next missed and he was on her, slamming her into the ground, her gun trapped beneath him.He slammed her head into the floor momentarily stunning her but Ziva jerked up her knee and caught him square between the legs. Howling, he punched her in the face and just as she was reaching to jab into his throat, a gunshot echoed through the warehouse and the guy collapsed on top of her.

There were suddenly hands lifting him off and Tony’s concerned face shoved into hers. “You ok?”

Nodding, feeling the stream of blood from her nose, Ziva urged Tony to help her stand, which he did. Swaying a little, she saw a blurry Gibbs, gun still raised and Tim behind him covering the guy she punched. Winchester was next to Tony, nudging the man she had shot non to gently with his boot. 

“ZIva.” Gibbs’s voice was rife with concern and she nodded again, waving off Tony’s support. “Fine, Gibbs. Glad you found me.” 

She directed that more at Dean than anything but Tony nodded proudly, saying, “Ole Doug here’s a regular bloodhound!”

Ignoring him, Ziva said, “Where’s the other guy?”

Murphy answered with a hail of automatic gunfire from above them no less. Ducking, Tony’s hand on her head, his body shielding her, Ziva cursed. Gibbs growled, “Up there!”

Pushing Tony so she could see, Ziva saw Man no 4 up on the second floor of the warehouse, firing down onto the open cargo space below. He wasn’t alone either as an answering rain of bullets had them kissing the deck. “Another one at 3 o’clock.”

“And 9.”

Boxed in a crossfire with limited cover, they were trapped and in serious trouble. Shouting over the noise, Gibbs yelled, “NCIS! Put your weapons down.”

None of the men paid the slightest bit of attention and continued to fire. “Anyone got a clear shot?” 

Tony and Ziva yelled back that they didn’t, they could barely see the guy at 12, let alone the man at 3. Tim had the best cover, a large metal container but his angle was terrible but he began to return fire nonetheless. Gibbs was crouched down behind a wooden crate, its contents hopefully sturdy enough to withstand the concerted fire. 

Dean was pressed between a crate and Tony’s shoulder, squirming. “Hey, quit it. Keep your fool head down.”

“Give me a gun.” Ziva and Tony stared at him in mock horror and said in unison, “Hell no.” Ziva took a few shots at the gunman above them, but he barely paused as he took cover. Tony snapped a few shots of his own at no 3, while Gibbs tried to get a line on no 9.

“Shit!” Tony hissed, pulling back as the crate splintered and cracked at the answering fire. Dean, no doubt pissed off, said, “Damnit, Gibbs, quit fighting me!” 

Confused, Tony looked over at Gibbs who was shaking his head like he was beset by a swarm of bees. “Just ... frigging ... let me...” Dean growled next to him, still talking to Gibbs. A round of fire came way to close to Gibbs for comfort and he flattened himself and snarled, “Fine!”

There was a tangible _surge_ of energy and Dean stood, honest of God stood and raised his hands and _pushed_. The gunmen staggered at the kinetic/empathic wave and one actually lost his grip on his weapon. Barely pausing, not letting them react at all, Dean _ripped_ one machine gun out of the guy’s hands and _sent_ the other sprawling. 

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

This was directed at Tony and Ziva, and McGee responded first, running up the nearest staircase. Dean kept on _shoving_ the guys to the ground anytime they moved, until Tony and Ziva reached them, while Tim already had his in handcuffs. Gibbs, shaken and shaking, stood slowly, glaring at Dean the whole time.

Above, Tony slammed his guy into the wall as he cuffed him, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Silent, the guy just glowered at him. Ziva’s collar was groaning, the last _knock_ having cracked his head on the floor. It was the blue coveralls man and she quickly patted him down and tossed his handgun before snapping handcuffs on him. 

Below, Gibbs had closed in on Dean, who insanely enough had let him. Grabbing a fistful of Dean’s jacket Gibbs snarled, loud enough for them all to hear, “You don’t stand up in the middle of a gun fight – I don’t care what the hell you can do!” 

Unbelievably, Dean replied loudly with, “Well, I wouldn’t have had to if you’d frigging let me take control.”

“I did!”

“The hell you did, you fought me every step of the way.”

Gibbs shoved Dean, slamming him into the wobbly crate behind him and hissed, “Not the point.” He backed off and yelled, “They secure?”

A chorus of ‘Yes, Boss!’ and Gibbs stalked out to call it in, leaving Dean to straighten his borrowed jacket. 

Once all the suspects were corralled and under Ziva and McGee’s watchful eye, Tony and Gibbs searched the warehouse finding mostly empty crates but the odd gem – namely a jewelled dagger or antique sword. By the time backup in form of Port Security had arrived, along with an ambulance, Gibbs sent three of them to retrieve Ms Jorgenson’s body. 

Chief Lake whistled at the destruction and laughed, “Sheesh, Gibbs, you sure don’t do things by half.” Ignoring him, Gibbs watched Ziva fend off the attention of a paramedic. Two dead, one wounded and four viable suspects to find out what the in the hell was going on. 

McGee was already processing the scene, while Tony had followed the three Port Security men with a borrowed kit to get evidence from Ms Jorgenson’s body. It was going to be long day.

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It was surprisingly noisy in the bullpen, given the late hour. There was some op going down half a dozen time zones away in MTAC. Gibbs and co were compiling reports while everything was still fresh in their minds, Ziva and Tony arguing whilst doing so. The mountain of evidence and paperwork would be tackled over the next few days but with suspects cooling their heels in lock up, the pressure was off. 

It was quiet however on the 2nd floor, notably on the overhanging balcony furthest away from Vance’s office and MTAC. It was a good place to hide out in, if you wanted to be readily visible from below but needing some space from the hustle and bustle of emotion. 

Dean leant forward on his arms, one hand idly rubbing his head, chasing – massaging the headache away. Gibbs was a white hot spot below, a magnetic north to his compass and it was only making his headache worse.

There was movement near him and the sound of an exhaled breath - a definite female presence. 

“You shouldn’t be here, you know that, right?”

Smiling and leaning forward into view, Kate nodded and sighed, “Sure, I know that. It’s just ...” 

Dean waited, not really looking, feeling his arm nearest her become chilled. Kate looked down at her team, her smile brightening further, “It’s hard not being with them – especially on days like these, the close calls. I miss being with them... miss them.”

Dean just raised an eyebrow, eyeing the very visible bullet hole in her forehead and said, “They catch the guy who did that?”

Touching the blood, her fingers coming away bloody, Kate sighed, “Yeah – they did.”

“Then you got no reason to be hanging around.” Kate followed Dean’s gaze, Gibbs sitting at his desk, and she said quietly, “I know. It’s just ...”

They stood there together, watching for a few minutes, Dean getting colder by the second. Eventually he sighed and said, “It won’t get any easier, you know. Watching and not doing anything. One of these days, you’ll start getting angry, mad that someone’s left, or died, or hell – forgot you. You’ll forget why you’re so angry and then ... start hurting people.”

“Really?” Kate didn’t sound too concerned, her fingers clasped tightly on the rail, making the metal frost over.

“Guess you’re already a little angry, huh?”

Shrugging, Kate didn’t look at Dean as she said, “Maybe.”

Glancing over at her, noting the tight line of her mouth, Dean continued, “You may not hurt them, but eventually you’ll hurt someone.”

“So what am I just supposed to do... let go? Walk into the light?” Kate scoffed, her fingers tightening on the rail. 

“Yeah, you are.”

Kate was silent but Dean’s breath began to fog. Below them, Tony was gesticulating furiously while he was on the phone, his voice barely distinguishable over the general hum, but growing in volume none the less.

It was a soft sigh, barely more than a breath but Kate exhaled, “They replaced me awfully fast... and with her.” There was just the barest hint of malice, an edge of hate. Dean did not respond, just watched McGee lean over Ziva’s shoulder, his excitable fingers jabbing at her screen, even as she tried to fend him off. 

The silence between them stretched, and Dean felt the rise of goosebumps on his arm when Kate sighed, again. “Stupid of me, I know. I just ....”

“You should go. Stop hanging around – stop worrying.”

“I don’t know how.” 

Her admission was a breath, a tendril of fear curling around them. “Sure you do – just like in the movies – let go.”

Dean could feel her piercing gaze shift from him to the team below and back. Ziva had sent McGee scurrying, his slapped fingers apparently stinging. “I’ll try.”

In the end it wasn’t that hard, Dean could _feel_ her let go on the small angers and resentments, embrace the happiness of having a team alive and well and then ... she was gone. The rush of returning heat was welcome and Dean watched as her fingerprints on the railing faded, until they too were gone. 

Rubbing his face, pushing against the headache, Dean whispered to himself, “Bye, Kate.”

 

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_ In a landmark lawsuit, SmithGlaxoKlein has successfully sued the FDA and Ms Portia da Silva. They have successfully won damages from the FDA for failing to act in good faith during the 1992 drug scare. SmithGlaxoKlein’s margins have plummeted in recent years, following reports that Ms da Silva had uncovered a link to their newest drug and Dr Bishop. In a join suit, the company has successfully sued Ms da Silva in her personal capacity for the cool sum of $2 million. It is rumoured that she refused to divulge her accomplices and as a result received an especially harsh judgement. Needless to say, T&E have once again stressed that there have been no sightings of Dr Bishop in decades.  _

- _ NY Times Article, 15 October 1995  _

 

  



	10. Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 9/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

  


Supply and Demand: Unwanted Part 9/9 (NCIS/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: [](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/profile)[**tari_roo**](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/)  

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/NCIS

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing.

Summary: NCIS/SPN Crossover AU. Gibbs didn’t want or need an Empath. But Director Vance was insisting and his team were avoiding him, more than usual, so when the T&E Centre called to say that Dean Winchester was available, it was time to pick up the unwanted Empath.

Spoilers: set somewhere in Season 6&7 of NCIS, and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 9

“So you’ve had a very busy couple of weeks, Gibbs.” Vance leant back in his very comfortable chair, his fingers steepled and a trademark toothpick in place. Gibbs was slouched in a chair on the other side of the expansive desk, legs crossed, the picture of ease and disinterest.His response was a quirked eyebrow.

Unimpressed, Vance continued, looking out of the large window beside him. “A good arrest. Busted a smuggling ring, which I assume you are still finalizing?”

Gibbs nodded.

“And despite losing a case to the NID, solved a murder and burglary in one.”

His interest piqued, figuring this was why Vance had summoned him to his office, Gibbs leant forward and said, “So they sent you a report? Confirmed it was Sorenson?”

“Yep,” Leon returned, tossing a one page report at Gibbs, who snatched it up and scanned it.

“Hardly in depth.”

“But they confirm that Sorenson confessed and admitted to meeting Matthews to purchase stolen goods, which ties in nicely with your bust at Norfolk.”

Gibbs frowned and tossed the report back to Vance, “And Capt. Cadman?”

Huffing a little, Vance smiled, “I kept on asking around and then was asked politely but firmly to stop asking around.... by the President.”

Gibbs shifted in his seat and grunted non-committedly, which earned him an stern eye from Vance. “Take it as a win, Gibbs. The burglary was the lesser of the evils – despite losing the murder. Leave it alone.”

Nodding reluctantly, Jethro pulled out his own piece of paper and tossed it at Vance. “And this?” 

“Pretty self-explanatory.”

Vance opened the folded paper and read it, a resigned look growing as he finished. “Even if T&E went for this, there is no way we can afford a permanent assignment, Jethro.”

“Screw the cost, Leon. I don’t want him going back there.” Putting the request down, Director Vance leant forward and said earnestly, “Why, Gibbs? I thought you were dead set against getting an Empath.”

“I was ... I am. It’s just ...” Gibbs struggled to find the words, to express the absolute yawning horror the prospect of losing Dean awoke in him. 

“You knew from the start it was temporary – he’s got work waiting for him at T&E.” Vance said reasonably, watching as Gibbs leant forward as well.

“He’s just a damn battery there!”

Vance shrugged, “Immaterial, Gibbs. That’s what he’s good at.”

Jabbing his finger at the desk, Gibbs growled, “Well he’s a damn good investigator, too!”

“Granted, but I can tell you now that Winchester could be Sherlock Holmes and T&E would still get more value from him as a ... how did you put it, battery, than we would from 20 investigators.” 

Gibbs hurled himself to his feet and snarled, “Yeah there used to a system that placed more monetary value on a person than their human rights, Leon.” 

Vance leant back in his chair, creating space between them, “You can’t compare this to slavery Gibbs, it doesn’t come even close, I ...”

Refusing to be sidetracked, Gibbs interrupted, “Ownership then. People used to pay more for a horse than a slave, for the breeding and monetary value, right?”

“I’ll give you that Gibbs, but still...” Vance tried to reason but Gibbs ran ahead of him with, “They treat him like an animal, Vance and...”

Interrupting this time, Vance shook his head, leaning forward, “You don’t know that, Gibbs, not for certain. You may not agree with or like their methods but they are well within their legal rights and there have been no complaints...”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Gibbs laughed, “Like they would make them public! And the law hardly compels every Kinetic and Empath to work for T&E and I would know!”

Vance agreed, “Yes, true...”

“And no one would actually sign up for that kind of treatment willingly, Vance. I had McGee check, Winchester has been with them for just under 2 years – and look what they’ve reduced him to already,” Gibbs interjected, slamming both hands onto the desk, leaning into Vance’s personal space.

Backing off, Leon sighed, “Looks perfectly healthy to me, Gibbs.”

Snorting, Gibbs shook his head and pointed at his chest, “Well I know different and there is no way ...”

Neatly over-riding Jethro, Vance waved his hand and said, “I think you’re forgetting that the law requires every Telekinetic and Empath to register themselves and as you just said Winchester has only been with them for 2 years.”

Momentarily thrown, Gibbs blurted out, “And?”

The picture of calm and reason, Vance sighed, “There is a law and there are consequences for not obeying that law, something you are amply familiar with.” 

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow, thinking it through and frowned a little before saying, “It hardly allows for indentured servitude...”

Again interrupting, Leon smiled, “No, but it does make provision to ensure that they can enforce it and ensure compliance.” Gibbs studied Leon’s face, noting the usual tells and slight smirk. Vance thought he was a closed book but having spent two weeks with an Empath, Gibbs was getting pretty good in reading even carefully concealed emotion.

“Give me his file, I know you have it.”

Vance smiled and pulled a file out of his drawer, a thick file, held together with a lot of elastic bands. He handed it over and Gibbs sat, pulling off the bands. He flipped through the first few pages, stopped and then turned back to relook at them. After reading for a few moments, Gibbs looked up and said, “FBI?”

“There’s a lot more to Dean Winchester than you think, Gibbs,” Vance supplied vaguely, fingering his toothpick, watching as Gibbs continued to page through the thick file.

Gibbs muttered more to himself, “He got 7 years for failing to register as an Empath?”

To this, Vance nodded and said, “The maximum sentence, yes.”

“Not exactly fair...”

At that Vance snorted and shook his head, “Hardly. It took 20, ok 10 years of his adult life before they tracked him down. 10 years in which he could have easily registered, if his father was the one keeping him off the grid before that.”

Gibbs looked up briefly before returning to the file. He ran his finger over the sentencing sheet, reading aloud, “5 for bank robbery and 3 for escaping police custody...”

“Dean Winchester has been on the FBI watch list for quite some time, before they knew he was an Empath. Milwaukee, Green River County, a long list of misdemeanours and felonies, Gibbs. Not exactly the helpless innocent you’re making him out to be.” Vance tried to follow the race of flickering emotions, but he had never been very good at reading Gibbs. 

Gibbs was silent, flipping through pages of the file. “Not much evidence for any of these charges.”

Nodding, Vance agreed, “No, but then the Federal Judge mostly ruled on his failure to register and every judge still remembers Galvaston. The other charges were gravy on a long sentence – “

“You mean a deal to get the FBI off their backs and stop trying to convict him themselves,” Gibbs said, looking up to meet Vance’s gaze, his expression carefully mocking.

“Agent... Hendricksen was it, was pretty damn pissed that he lost Winchester to T&E. They only discovered he was an Empath when they arrested him and his brother in Monument, Colorado, on a B&E charge. A lot of arguing went on as to who got to keep Winchester.” Vance felt as if Gibbs was losing some of his steam, his hackles were definitely deflating as he reached the end of the file.

Flipping through a few pages, looking for something, Gibbs queried, “And his brother? Sam?”

Glad he had read through the file one last time before Gibbs arrived, Vance pointed at the file and said, “Already registered... as a Kinetic. With no actual evidence on him and the FBI more interested in Dean, he walked.”

Silence hung heavy between them, Gibbs slowly closing the file and putting it down on the desk, gently. Feeling a little bad for him, Vance tried to sound reasonable, “Look Gibbs, I get that you’ve taken a shine to the guy, but perhaps you need to consider that maybe... its deliberate on his part. It’s not like Dean Winchester was a productive, up standing member of society before his arrest. See for yourself, no working history at all, hasn’t held down a job in his life, just racked up an impressive amount of credit card fraud. Just what exactly has he been doing since high school ... besides getting away with any number of felonies?”

Gibbs looked a little pissed at this, at the idea that he’d been played but Vance pressed on, “You may not like the T&E or their methods, but there is no denying that Winchester has gotten the better end of the deal – this or prison.”

Leaning back into the chair, Gibbs sighed, “Actually, I think he’d probably prefer prison.”

Shrugging, Leon smiled, “Maybe, but at least this way he’s contributing to society. Paying his dues for a lifetime of being an oxygen thief and maybe the T&E methods are this ‘tough’ because he resists...”

“I doubt it.”

Ignoring the tone, the growing potential to reignite the argument to ‘keep’ Winchester, Leon said firmly, “Just consider this, Jethro. Maybe he’s playing you, looking for sympathy, looking for just this kind of conversation to take place.” 

Gibbs _pushed_ the file across Vance’s desk, got up and said, “Whatever he did before, no one deserves this.”

Slamming the door behind him, Gibbs stepped out of the office, nodded at Cynthia and walked onto on upper hallway. On principle he’d pretty much take a contrary position to Vance on just about anything but he couldn’t help admit that the conversation had had the Director’s desired effect. His view on Dean Winchester was definitely skewed. He couldn’t help reviewing the past few days, examining their interactions, wondering if his own emotions had been manipulated after all. Was he being played, his strings pulled to allow Dean to escape or make demands on a more lenient sentence. 

He put his elbows on the railing and watched his team below... with their potential cuckoo sitting amongst them. Winchester was sitting at his desk, watching as Dinozzo tormented McGee with a ... stapler? Ziva was pretending not to laugh and then Dean said something indistinguishable and they all laughed. McGee eventually grabbed the stapler and threw it at Tony’s desk, necessitating a scramble to catch it from Dinozzo. 

Unbidden, Dean glanced up at Gibbs, smiled hesitantly but picked up on Gibbs’s mood and the smile faded. Packing the emotions away, Gibbs straightened and went down the stairs, noting that the antics stopped abruptly and as he rounded the corner into their desk area, his team bar Winchester were the picture of professional agents. 

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Dean stood, flipped a wave goodbye to the others. 

“See you tomorrow, Boss... and Dean.”

“Later.”

“Good night.”

They were having a silent, last meal, in a somewhat clichéd sombre mood when Gibbs said, “So, the FBI, huh?”

Dean looked up from his noodles, half a strand hanging out of his mouth. “Yeah.” 

“Never mentioned it.”

Incredulous, Dean laughed, “Like we’ve swapped life stories, man.”

“Bank Robbery, credit card fraud, murder?”

There was no response from Winchester, who just continued to eat his Chinese. 

“Makes a little hard to help you.”

“Never asked for your help,” Dean said into his food, eyes downcast, shoulders stiff. 

Gibbs felt a surge of emotion, anger maybe and wasn’t sure if it was from him or Dean. He pushed, “You kinda did.”

“No, I didn’t.” The tone was firm, insolent even, pushing right back and Gibbs could totally see the potential for violence in Dean in the look he shot at him. In response, Gibbs raised a doubtful eyebrow and dared Dean to contradict him.

Throwing his fork down, Dean stood and said sharply, “Dude, don’t make this out to be something it’s not ... you may have Richard Gere hair, but I’m no Julia Roberts – I do not need to be rescued!”

A little taken aback, Gibbs deadpanned, “Why, because you agreed to this?”

Dean barked out a harsh laugh and said, “Because life sucks and then kicks you in the balls... and you just take it. Thanks for dinner... but that’s all you’re getting.”

There was enough derision and innuendo in his tone that as Dean turned to storm off, Gibbs growled, “Hey, ..” but instead of verbalising his anger, his control slipped and he _head slapped_ Dean, who stopped... stunned.

“Did you just head slap me?”

The tone was incredulous... and Gibbs felt a spike of shame which damn it he knew Dean would feel as well. “Quit acting like a little pissant.”

The hackles fell just a little and Dean waved it off but left anyway with, ”Whatever old man.”

Alone in the kitchen and faced with the very real fact that tomorrow a guy who he in all honesty liked despite many misgivings was going to taken away from him. The idea of being alone... having known what it was like to have an Empath again was a little terrifying. But Gibbs was used to dealing with his fears, going on in the face of far more tragic loss so he packed his emotions away and _tossed_ the cartons in the trash and turned out the lights.

If he dreamt, he didn’t remember any of them and the cool morning lacked its usual peace somehow. He decided against going for one last run, as they were supposed to be towing the line after all. Dean found him in the kitchen and he had his taser. He didn’t ask, just nodded and Gibbs followed him into the living room.

“Sit.” Dean’s voice was subdued but firm, a dozen emotions circling their connection, none of them really tangible.

“Dean,” Gibbs tried, suddenly wanting to end this on a slightly positive note, despite last night’s dinner conversation.

Firm still, Dean said, “Just sit.”

So Gibbs sat and Dean perched on the coffee table and said, “Shut up and let me do this, ok?”

“Do what?”

There was no response but Gibbs _felt_ something along their connection, a surge - almost a change. It felt weird but not wrong... more like something was shifting, settling. Dean has his eyes closed and was muttering to himself and whatever it was took a few minutes before he opened his eyes and said, “Ok.”

He offered the taser to Gibbs, who in return said, “What did you do?”

Dean shrugged, eyes on the floor, the table, the couch, anywhere but on Gibbs. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“Matters to me.”

The moment stretched between them and Dean sighed and finally looked up, “Do you trust me?”

And surprisingly enough, Gibbs found that he did. No matter Vance’s insidious facts, the thick FBI file, the very real possibility that he was being conned, he trusted this man. Perhaps Dean really was that good at manipulation but Gibbs had seen too much, felt too much genuine concern, genuine fear. So he nodded, and said, “Yeah.”

“Then trust me on this, kay?”

Dean wasn’t so much looking at him, as through him, past him to the days, weeks, years ahead of them. And so Gibbs sighed and said, “Then you sit.” He motioned towards the seat beside him. Dean slowly, reluctantly complied. 

They sat in the exact same positions as Monday morning, with Gibbs disturbed as equally by those memories as by what he was about to do. Dean muttered, “Do it three times, no matter what... no matter if you think it’s too much or anything, 3 times. Got it?”

Hiding the shake in his hand, Gibbs nodded, “Yeah, I got it, kid.”

Braced and as ready as he could be, Dean nodded and Gibbs flipped the taser on and touched it on his arm as lightly as he could.

The icy plunge was no different than before and before it could settle, he did it again, feeling the icefeeling diminish and the loss grow but he pressed on for the final time, blinking at the bright light and vague sensation of ... Dean?

Winchester was sprawled on the couch, muscles locked and corded, riding out his own pain but rather than feel an empty, meaningless pit and an accompanying need to reconnect, Gibbs _felt_ Dean. It was a very distant, just at the edge of your vision kind of thing and not nearly as satisfying as before.... but still there.

“What did you do?” Gibbs stammered, testing out the connection, _feeling_ it but unable to draw more than the barest glimmer of power or emotion from Dean.

But Dean was beyond answering and wouldn’t be able to anyway... probably part of the plan. Gibbs resisted the urge to reach out and soothe the tremors as it would only mean having to do this again.

Eventually Dean got himself under control, the dazed distant look settling in, muscles occasionally twitching. Once he was able, they went to his room and Gibbs helped him pack, careful not to touch him, strangely terrified at just how easy it was after all – giving him away.

They didn’t stop for coffee, T&E was waiting and sure enough as they stepped out of the elevator Gibbs saw three T&E Agents, one being Andrews, in the bullpen along with everyone else, including Vance.

Andrews, smarmy smile in place shook Gibbs hand warmly, “Looking good, Agent Gibbs.”  
Gibbs couldn’t help but notice his examining study, no doubt checking to see just how long he could hold out on them... before coming knocking for a fix. But if whatever Dean had done lasted, he’d wouldn’t be for a while.

Biting back the urge to punch him, Gibbs said, “Andrews. Nice and early.”

“Yes, busy schedule ahead for Dean now that he’s back in regular service. Well...” Andrews paused expectantly, hand out stretched as if he expected Gibbs to hand over Dean immediately. 

“Wait!”  
  
It was Abby, of course, who rushed over and stammered, “Can we say good bye?”

Smiling brightly, as always, Andrews thought about it for a moment before graciously laughing, “Ah, I see he hasn’t lost his touch, always was the charmer...”

It was a mean thing to say, implying so much and demeaning even more but Abby ignored it and took it as permission and quickly hugged a stiff and unresponsive Dean. Tony stepped forward and gave him a hearty slap on the back and Tim a brief handshake. 

Ziva hesitated before briefly touching Dean, squeezing his hand. Only Gibbs, of course, could make no physical gesture. But he caught his Empath, _his_ Empath’s eyes and sent as much of an apology as he could along the tenuous back end connection. If Dean received it, accepted it, he made no sign. Vance shook Andrews’ hand and with that the T &E Agents and their Empath turned towards the elevator.

His last glimpse of Dean was of a bowed head and resigned slump, and then... he was gone. 

“Damnit, the guy kinda grew on me in the end,” Tony sighed, carefully watching Gibbs.

Ever the pragmatist, McGee disagreed, “Probably just emotional manip, or by product of being near him, or...”

Ziva shook her head, “I don’t know, Tim.” Abby however smacked him in the arm and exclaimed, “McGee, how could you?”

Vance just nodded at Jethro and said, “Gibbs,” before walking away. Gibbs watched him as he climbed the stairs and then chivvied his people back to their desks, letting Abby bestow a kiss as she went past. 

The morning loomed... empty. Oh they had open cases, mountains of paperwork and suspects’ statements to finalize but there was something definitely missing.

Acting on an impulse and the infamous gut, Gibbs motioned for McGee and when he came over he said quietly, “Have a small favour to ask, Tim.”

It took 3 weeks but in the end that didn’t matter. After a particularly hard day, a grieving widow to give worse news to, Gibbs opened his front door and immediately knew another Kinetic was in his home. Leaving the lights, he closed the door and pulled out his gun.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

There was a tall figure, silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, long arms, broad shoulders, shaggy hair.

Nodding, Gibbs _turned_ on one of the small den lamps, the one next to the couch, and said, “Yeah, we need to have a conversation... about your brother.”

 

n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n*n*c*i*s*s*p*n

The end... for now

**Authors note:**

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this fanfic.I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, having rewritten the opening chapter several times before I hit the right tone. I swore I would never post a WIP again and I broke that promise with this fic, but I ensured that I had written the majority of it, before posting again. However, I managed to get lost in writing the sequels before realising that chapter 7 still needed a lot of work. 

My influences for the story are as follows:

Anne McCaffrey’s Talent series, notably _Pegasus Rising_.  
Sue Foster’s (http://www.susans-stories.co.uk/gdp_stories.html )GDP Sentinel AU series. I read these years ago and was both fascinated and repulsed at the idea of Guides being second class citizens. So naturally, I am writing something similar.  
 _Fringe_. Yes, I borrowed Dr Bishop, but mine is a different parallel universe Dr Bishop who, in my mind, failed to save Peter and is now trying prepare every world for the war to come (so far). I don’t think there is actually going to be a war in ‘this’ world though. 

I intend this story to be the first of a series, revolving around Dean’s experience with the T&E Centre and being ‘loaned’ out. I love Outsider POV stories and crossovers offer a unique opportunity to see characters through the eyes of another fandom’s characters. I will write an entirely Dean POV story at some point, but I relish the opportunity to ‘see’ Dean through others’ eyes. I debated at length with myself about the two Dean POV scenes in this fic, but could find no workable way to have anyone else ‘see’ them without it becoming overcomplicated. 

I will expound a little more on the SPN AU world as the stories progress, on where Sam is and what he’s been doing, but the SPN verse is not the focus of the series, just yet. But note, as AU as this series is, SPN canon is not _that_ different. It’s all in the subtleties. And yes, a number (cough all of you) of readers asked about Sam, but I wanted the payoff ‘ending’ so I deliberately ignored all pleas. Needless to say, Dean is wondering exactly the same things, “Where the hell is Sam?” However, as this last section revealed SPN canon seriously diverges from _Jus in Bello_ , and considering that Dean’s in T&E custody and not in Hell, _All Hell Breaks Loose_ did not follow canon either

And lastly, I am a chronic non-commenter and my excuse is always – I read offline and forget to go back and review. In light of this, I wish to thank all the people who read this fic but didn’t comment – I assume you enjoyed the read because you made it this far. I would have thanked you personally as well....  J

But to everyone else who _did_ comment – thanks for reading and taking the time to let me know what you thought. Collectively you made my day many times over.

And that is that – until next time.

To be continued in two sequels so far.

First: Supply and Demand: Repeat Business (Criminal Minds/SPN AU), which resolves the possessed/cursed dagger story line

Second: Supply and Demand: Stolen (SG/SPN AU), which resolves the Carson-paperweight-theft mystery and NID storyline

For the lj readers, a snippet of Repeat Business ([link](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/10748.html))

  



End file.
